


Maybe Later

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: A collection of unfinished fics, prompts and ideas. Some of these I might finish. Maybe. Later. Some I think I've abandoned before I even gave them a chance to start.Each chapter will have the warnings and characters posted at the top/in the notes/as appropriate.I guess, if you really feel passionately about me continuing one of these, let me know.





	1. Preface

I have a  _lot_ of fics - if this isn't the first thing of mine you are reading, you are probably aware of this. And I have  _so so_ many unfinished. I'm probably never going to revisit some of these, but who knows.

Really, I just wanted to share them - I have so many ideas and stories I  _want_ to write and, well, I have terrible follow through. 

 

In any case, I hope that you enjoy these snippets of what could have been.


	2. Preface

A/N: For helmistress who requested #19: “I can’t stay away from you.”

A/N2: Thank you forever to Ro, my beta reader.

A/N3: Bride Shows are a real THING that they used to do in Russia, but I’ve changed it up a lot.

 

Warnings: AU, angst, language, sex 

Pairings: 6x3, Rx?

  
  


_ Careless _

 

“Your Majesties, may I present Prince Quatre?”

The receiving hall was, predictably, packed. All of the Sanq courtiers had managed to find an excuse to be in the city proper instead of tending to their estates, and a fair few visiting nobles, merchants and diplomats were elbowing each other for a better view as well.

The Bride Show was, after all, typically a once-in-a-decade experience, and no one wanted to miss it.

Nevermind the fact that there were no  _ brides _ on display.

But the council, filled with old men who  _ still _ held out hope that the heir to the throne would come to his senses and reject this foolish notion of stepping aside and allowing his sister to take the throne, had insisted that it was  _ still _ a Bride Show and would  _ always _ be a Bride Show.

The fair skinned, fair haired young man who approached the dais and the thrones occupied by the Prince and Princess Royal of Sanq projected an air of confidence and sincerity.

“What do you think?” Relena murmured, her gaze still straight ahead and her lips barely moving. A lifetime of being on display had taught them both not to make their thoughts or words obvious to anyone but themselves.

“Not to my tastes. Yours?” Zechs responded, looking the man over closely. He was vaguely familiar, and Zechs was sure he had seen him at one of the tournaments. His kingdom, a vast, sprawling dynasty that encompassed a brutal desert and well-placed ports, was one of Sanq’s major trading partners. An alliance with him would be immensely profitable.

“He’s pretty,” Relena said, which meant nothing. 

After bowing, Winner backed away and took his place in the long row of potential mates.

The entire process was a tedious affair - Zechs still remembered the Bride Show for his father, put off after the death of his first wife and mother of his children for five years before the nobles had grown anxious enough to force the issue. Zechs had been on the cusp of manhood, not yet fourteen, and irritated to have been pulled from his military exercises to stand beside his father and watch the parade of women who would  _ never _ compare to his mother.

One by one, the gems from each kingdom or noble family came forward for their formal introduction. Later in the evening, there would be a ball, and the next day would be a series of awkward social events designed to give the Council’s favorite candidates time to win over the heir, followed by yet another ball, and then another day of such things until, presumably, Relena picked her future husband and the rest were dismissed.

The Bride Show for their father had lasted for three  _ weeks _ before the Council gave up and sent all of the women away, agreeing to leave Marticus alone.

Zechs fervently hoped that Relena didn’t take too long to select her choice.

Then again, if she was lucky, she would be stuck with the man for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t a decision to make lightly.

Still, Zechs wished he could be  _ anywhere _ else. He knew  _ why _ his presence was required - he was, after all, still the official heir, and would remain so until their father died and he was allowed to abdicate in her favor. As such, Relena was required to take his preferences into consideration for her choice - and even though they  _ both _ knew that if Zechs felt suicidal enough to tell Relena who she should marry she would quickly disabuse him of any delusions of controlling her - appearances needed to be maintained. And, he suspected, the Council were hoping that one of the men paraded before his sister would catch  _ his _ eye as well.

Doubtful, considering that Zechs’s tastes ran towards soldiers, and not these soft fops in their velvet clothes, dripping jewels and pleasant manners.

“Prince Wufei.”

The dark haired man was well-known to Zechs, who had spent time as a ward of the Long Clan as a child. They had not gotten along well as children, and, despite the man’s intelligence and unexpected prowess as a warrior, Zechs had no interest in him.

Relena, on the other hand, looked intrigued for the first time today.

Zechs was sorely tempted to warn her off - Wufei Chang was, to put it mildly, combative. Zechs couldn’t  _ imagine _ a lifetime spent with the difficult man.

But, if he told Relena Wufei was off-limits, she would no doubt select him immediately.

So Zechs decided to hold his peace.

“Lord Maxwell.”

The long-haired man was only  _ barely _ of a high enough social class to merit an invitation to the Bride Show. As usual, he flaunted every convention and, instead of bowing at the foot of the dais, he loped up the stairs and bowed in front of Relena with a flourish.

“Your Majesty.”

Relena rolled her eyes and held out her hand for Maxwell to kiss.

He then turned to Zechs and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Maxwell wasn’t an option, for either Relena or Zechs - the Council would revolt if a first generation nobleman was chosen as a royal consort - but he  _ had _ been an enjoyable liaison.

Zechs held his hand out, and Maxwell grinned before pressing a kiss to his knuckles, lips lingering longer than was polite.

The Chief Councilor noisily cleared his throat, and Maxwell backed away.

“You should do it,” Relena said to Zechs once the man had taken his place in the line.

“I already have,” Zechs replied.

Relena caught herself on a laugh.

“I  _ meant _ you should marry him. You’re already abdicating the throne - marry who you want.”

Zechs considered the possibility.

But he knew, even if he wasn’t right for the throne, that his future was closely tied to that of the Sanq kingdom and the protection of his sister and their royal line. Maxwell, with his distant holding along the coast and his questionable political leanings, would be a terrible match.

“No, I think he’s only here to irk the Council. But, if you fancy a distraction from the rest of them, I highly recommend him.”

Relena’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t respond to him.

“Duke… Barton.”

The hall erupted in exclamations of shock.

Shock that Zechs shared.

Standing there without a care in the world, as if he didn’t notice or likely didn’t  _ care _ that the Royal Guard had all reached for their weapons and he was in a room full of enemies, Trowa Barton stepped up to present himself.

The Bartons, that troublesome clan that, according to  _ them, _ had a claim to the throne just as valid as the Peacecraft claim, had lived in near exile for the last twenty years. They had revolted - as they seemed destined to do every two or three generations - and been soundly defeated, their best lands seized and their army disbanded.


	3. Harbinger: Prelude

A/N: For Duaimei, for the month of June, who requested a 2xMx? and graciously allowed me to add in Trowa and Wufei to make this a 2x3x5xM.

A/N 2: As always, thank you Ro for all the support and beta work.

A/N 3: If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon (patreon backlash ClaraBarton). Even just a few dollars a month makes a huge difference for me - AND you can get fics, like this one, every month as well as the ability to vote on updates and exclusive fics not posted anywhere else.

 

Warnings: sex, angst, language, blood/gore

Pairings: 2x5xM (that order doesn’t really mean anything)

 

_ Harbinger: Prelude _

 

The problem with being four thousand years old was that nothing surprised Meilin anymore. She had, quite literally, seen it all.

It seemed like, for the last thousand years, she had been filled with a sense of ennui. There simply didn’t seem to be much  _ purpose _ to her continued existence. 

Meilin preferred to have goals - to have reasons for doing things and something to achieve. 

Ten years ago, when Meilin and the remaining members of the Old Order had finally convinced the majority of vampires to come out, as it were, to humans, Meilin had, she thought, accomplished the most important goal of her existence. 

Vampires, and humans could now live side by side, in relative peace.

For thousands of years, she had seen what happened when vampires were forced into the shadows - what happened when humans hunted them down.

She had been relieved that, aside from a few very distressing, tragic events, humans had accepted vampires and worked towards integrating them into human culture. That, in itself, was a little amusing. Vampires had been doing that themselves for as long as Meilin could remember.

Still, it meant that vampires and humans could co-exist.

It meant that the Harbingers, the council of three vampires who watched over the entire community, could rest easy.

Meilin had never liked resting easy. It made her bored and anxious.

The Harbingers - Death, Life and Justice - had existed in one form or another since the first vampires had walked the earth, tens of thousands of years ago.

The current council had been set nearly two thousand years ago, and for those two thousand years, the three vampires had worked together to maintain a semblance of order - to keep vampires from growing too numerous, or too few; to keep covens from growing too strong, or too weak; to preserve humanity, but not allow it to become too strong. They had walked a fine line, facing enemies too numerous to fathom, and it was only because of the surety of their union that the three had survived, and that humanity had as well.

But those days - of danger and war and endless opposition - were in the past, and Meilin, the oldest of the Harbingers, was feeling rather nostalgic.

She roamed the streets of New York City, the chill spring air almost invigorating her, and she wondered if this was really it.

If, at last, she would be without purpose. If, at last, she was no longer needed.

Perhaps so. Perhaps she should contemplate finally watching a sunrise for the first time in four thousand years.

But not tonight, she decided.

Tonight, she would continue to exist, and to do so, she needed to feed.

Ten years of acknowledgement meant that entire cultures and sub-cultures had grown around vampires.  _ Groupies _ , Meilin had decided to call them, at least in her own mind. Humans who very nearly worshipped vampires, or at least desired to belong to them, to bleed for them. 

She thought that, in America, it was both better and worse. There was such a fantastic history of literature and film to support Americans’ obsessions with vampires, and even if so much of it was so  _ very _ wrong, it still put vampires into a sort of social elite in America that they did not experience anywhere else in the world.

It meant that, among other things, it was incredibly easy for Meilin to find a willing donor. There were entire clubs and  _ restaurants _ devoted to setting up vampires and potential donors. There were some humans who sold themselves, and there were some vampires who sold  _ themselves _ . 

Since  _ everything _ was incredibly easy for Meilin, she avoided the clubs and restaurants and traps for humans to fall into, and instead found herself in Central Park, basking in the glow of the moonlight and the chill of the night air as she stalked the darkened pathways for her prey.

She found it, a human to suit her, sitting alone on a bench, hunched into herself and crying.

Meilin sat down beside her, on the opposite end of the bench, far enough away so as not to scare her into flight.

The girl looked up, instantly on edge at having company, and Meilin wondered what such a slight creature was doing alone, in the dark. She was clearly miserable, her tears glistening in the pale light and her eyes and lips dark.

“Are you alright?” Meilin reached out, slowly, carefully, and ran her hand over the girl’s cheek, smoothing away a tear and allowing her essence to flow into the girl, to warm her until she gasped in unexpected delight.

“How-”

“I hate to see you so miserable, dear one,” Meilin told the girl, moving her hand, running her thumb over the girl’s tender, swollen lips.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prelude to a fic a supernatural fic for Maevemauvaise that centered around Trowa, a human, interacting with vampires.


	4. Harbinger: Chapter 1

A/N: For Duaimei, for the month of June, who requested a 2xMx? and graciously allowed me to add in Trowa and Wufei to make this a 2x3x5xM.

A/N 2: As always, thank you Ro for all the support and beta work.

A/N 3: If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon (patreon backlash ClaraBarton). Even just a few dollars a month makes a huge difference for me - AND you can get fics, like this one, every month as well as the ability to vote on updates and exclusive fics not posted anywhere else.

 

Warnings: sex, angst, language, blood/gore

Pairings: 2x5xMx3 (that order doesn’t really mean anything), 2x5xM, more pairings to be added as they arise.

 

_ Harbinger _

 

“You get that this is a really,  _ really _ bad idea, right?”

Trowa looked up from shoving another pair of briefs into his duffel bag and gave Catherine an exasperated look.

She had been running with this theme for the last two weeks, ever since Trowa had told her about his Spring Break plans.

There were times when it was nice to have a roommate who thought of herself as his big sister. And then there were times when it started to get irritating. This was one of the latter.

“It’s not a bad idea. I have the chance to interview some of the oldest vampires in the world. Do you understand how big this is? For my thesis?”

“And do  _ you _ understand that this is basically the plot for  _ every _ vampire horror movie, ever?”

Trowa arched an eyebrow at her.

“Really? Somehow I missed all of those movies with a young history grad student getting invited to spend Spring Break in New York City doing research for his dissertation. That definitely sounds like it would be  _ riveting _ .”

Catherine glared at him.

“Trowa, this is what happened to Keanu Reaves in  _ Dracula! _ ”

“Wasn’t he a real estate lawyer or something?”

“Well, yeah, I think so. But the point is - he  _ thought _ he was just doing his job when Dracula invited him into his lair, and then BAM! Dracula tries to kill him and steal his fiancee.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a fiancee.”

Catherine’s glare intensified.

“What about  _ Interview with the Vampire _ ?”

“What about it? We aren’t in Colonial America, and I-”

“No, the  _ end _ , when Christian Slater and Tom Cruise are-”

“Cathy. You sound ridiculous. My life is not a vampire horror movie. I’m not Keanu or Christian Slater. I’m going to be fine.”

“Just… Trowa, you  _ really _ don’t feel scared about the fact that you’re going to spend an entire week-”

“Eleven days,” he corrected absently, reviewing his duffel bag one last time before zipping it up. “My Monday class was cancelled.”

“Eleven days! Trowa! You’re spending  _ eleven _ days with three vampires in their  _ lair _ !”

Trowa snorted a laugh.

“Cathy, they don’t have a  _ lair _ . They have a Brownstone in New York City. Stop making it sound like I’m hopping in a stage coach and going off to Transylvania. Besides, if this was so dangerous, would Professor Winner really have suggested it in the first place?”

“He’s one of  _ them _ , Trowa,” Catherine pointed out.

“One of  _ them _ ?”

“He’s a vampire! He’s- he’s probably on their side. How do you know he’s not just… scouting out victims for them, and sending unknowing grad students to their front door for dinner?”

Trowa choked on a laugh and forced himself to regard her seriously.

“Cathy. You really think Professor Winner is a vampire pimp?”

She made an aggravated huff.

“He’s been a professor here for fifteen years - don’t you think someone would have noticed if he was sending grad students off to their demise?”

“Maybe,” she grudgingly admitted.

“Besides,” Trowa pointed out as he hefted his duffel bag, “they don’t need to trick anyone into becoming their dinner - people buy  _ tickets _ for the privilege of that.”

Catherine muttered something under her breath, no doubt something derisive, but she stepped aside and let Trowa walk out of his room.

His laptop and notebooks were already packed up in his backpack, sitting by the front door, and he picked that up as well.

“I still don’t understand how anyone could be crazy enough to  _ want _ a vampire to drink their blood,” Catherine muttered.

Trowa shrugged, and then winced when the shoulder strap of his duffel bag shifted across his throat. He readjusted it.

“Some people enjoy it - it’s not supposed to hurt,” he pointed out. Although, in this, he was on Catherine’s side. Despite the fact that having a vampire drink your blood wasn’t supposed to hurt - something about their fangs producing some kind of numbing sensation and their magic making the  _ donor _ feel pleasure  _ if _ they consented to allowing the vampire to do it in the first place. There were horror stories, of course, about non-consensual blood-sucking. About vampires going too far and killing their donor. 

“Just- be careful, Trowa, please.”

He sighed and, after opening the door to their shoebox of an apartment, he turned around and faced her.

“I will be,” he assured her.

She didn’t look like she believed him, which, all things considered, was fair. 

_ Careful _ had never been something Trowa did well.

 

-o-

 

The flight from LAX to LaGuardia was uneventful, and Trowa took the time to go over the notes from Professor Winner.

Quatre Winner, reportedly one of the ten oldest vampires in the world, had been Trowa’s thesis advisor for the past two years, ever since Trowa started his PhD at Stanford with a focus in Vampiric lore and history. Vampires had only been  _ out _ \- had only revealed themselves to be fact and not just nightmare - for ten years. Trowa still remembered that first press conference, when he had been a freshman in high school, and Quatre Winner, as well as a handful of other vampires, had stood in front of cameras and announced to the world that they were real.

Because studying vampires was such a new field, there wasn’t much that had been published - which was, on one hand, great for Trowa. It meant he got to be one of the first to delve into this kind of research. But on the other hand, it meant there were  _ not _ a lot of sources - or classes - on the subject. In undergrad, he had had to cobble together classes in history, sociology and literature to create his own degree in Vampiric lore. If Professor Winner hadn’t read Trowa’s undergraduate papers, he seriously doubted that Stanford would have even accepted him into their graduate history program. There wasn’t a single history department at  _ any _ of the renown universities in the country that had developed a program that covered Vampires - Winner’s own research was on culinary and agrarian patterns in Western Europe. But, for some reason, Winner had argued that Trowa should be admitted as a doctoral candidate, and allowed to pursue his avenue of research.

Once again, Trowa had had to cobble together classes, and for the last four semesters he had had an independent study with Winner that mostly consisted of sitting in the professor’s office from midnight until three or four every Wednesday and asking him any question Trowa could think of.

It had been during one of those late night meetings, two months ago, that Winner had suggested Trowa get in touch with a few friends of his - the Harbingers.

Trowa had thought he was joking.

The Harbingers, three of the oldest vampires in the world, weren’t exactly  _ in charge _ of all of the other vampires, but they were old enough, powerful enough, and respected enough to have a great deal of authority over them. According to Winner, the three vampires were, more or less, a kind of ruling council.  _ They give us death, life and justice _ , Winner had said.

They had come up, in Trowa’s research, time and time again - three vampires who had crafted world events for thousands of years and, at least according to Winner, had been the ones to decide that it was finally time to let humans in on the secret of their existence.

For all that, the Harbingers were reclusive - no one really knew their identities. At least, no  _ humans _ did, and it had taken weeks of persuasion from Winner before they agreed to let Trowa visit them.

Even though Winner had given Trowa explicit instructions on how to greet them, what questions would be off-limits - basically a ‘how to not get yourself killed or me embarrassed’ guide, Trowa still felt uneasy about the whole thing.

More uneasy than he ever would have let on to Catherine. 

For one thing, Trowa wasn’t staying at a hotel, but, at Winner’s insistence, would be staying  _ with _ the Harbingers in their Manhattan Brownstone. Being the houseguest of three vampires who controlled death, life and justice was more than a little intimidating.

For another, Trowa was not someone who had ever been considered  _ sociable _ . He was terrible at small talk - terrible at almost  _ all _ communication that wasn’t a lecture or a debate, according to three exes.

Trowa had a hard enough time feeling comfortable speaking up in his Research Topics study group - drawing three ancient vampires into conversation and  _ not _ sounding like an idiot was going to be an almost insurmountable challenge.

Still, Trowa reminded himself, this was for his thesis. He could do this. He  _ had _ to do this.

 

-o-

 

He caught a cab from the airport to their home, feeling like a tourist as he pressed his face against the window of the cab to look at the city as they drove through it. He had never been to New York City before, and it was very different than San Francisco - and LA, where he had grown up.  

The city was impressive and magnificent, and the historian in him was aching to explore it. He had read so many accounts of underground vampire warrens in the city dating all the way back to the earliest Dutch settlers, and while he had seen photographs, he wanted to look at them with his own eyes.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a townhouse on 62nd street. Central Park was  _ right _ there - just a few houses down.

Trowa paid the driver and grabbed his bags, and had to stop and stare.

The house was narrow, but it was  _ huge _ \- at least five stories tall, with a curved face and white stonework. 

In the setting sun, it looked very opulent and romantic. And not at all ominous.

Trowa approached the front door and knocked. 

After only a moment, it swung open to reveal a slim, dark haired man in a black suit. He lifted his eyebrows at Trowa in question.

“Trowa Barton. I’m-”

“Yes, our guest. Please come in.” The man stood aside and gestured for Trowa to proceed him into a massive, marble foyer. On one side of the room, a marble staircase curved up and out of sight, an intricate, wrought iron bannister following the curve.

“Please, set your bags down and I will have them brought to your room.” The man indicated a marble-topped table off to one side.

“No, I can carry them,” Trowa shrugged off the offer.

“I have no doubt - you seem to be in excellent physical shape. But your hosts are waiting for you in the sitting room.”

The man gestured towards the stairs and, with a frown, Trowa set his bags on the table and followed him up to the second floor. 

The stairs opened up onto a marble hallway. On the left end of the hall, Trowa could see the furnishings of a dining room, which he thought was ironic. The man led him towards the right, and Trowa followed him into a room illuminated only by an overhead chandelier.

The floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall were blocked out by curtains, allowing absolutely no light into the room from the fading sun.

The room itself was surprisingly empty. Trowa had half-expected to walk into a museum exhibit - with art on the walls, statuary and sumptuous furniture. Instead, the room was an exercise in restraint. One wall was dominated by a marble fireplace and mantle, with a large mirror hanging over it. The opposite wall, however, was almost completely covered by an enormous mural painting done entirely in black, white, cream and red. It reminded Trowa of a painting he had seen on display in San Francisco once, a Chinese painting of plum blossoms. Just like that painting, there were several lines of calligraphy descending from the far left side of the mural.

Otherwise, the walls were completely bare, and the furniture between them was all low, made of black lacquered wood, and the cream colored cushions of the very long couch and five armchairs all looked like raw silk. A gleaming black grand piano sat near the far window. There was no rug on the floor, and the wood looked as if it had been stained with something dark and red.

It was stunning, but even more stunning were the room’s two occupants, a man and a woman. Winner had told Trowa that two of the Harbingers were Chinese - Meilin and Wufei, he had called them, his voice fond.

The woman, Meilin, was reclining on the couch and leafing idly through a magazine. She wore a white pant suit, with nothing under the jacket except for a triangle of skin so pale it rivaled her suit. Her black hair was cut in a bob that followed the sharp line of her chin.

The man, Wufei, was seated at the piano, idly playing it, and he seemed to be wearing traditional Chinese clothing - black pants, a white shirt and a black jacket embroidered with white thread and red trim at the cuffs and collar. His hair, longer than Meilin’s, was pulled back into a smooth tail at the nape of his neck.

In the soft light from the chandelier, they looked ethereal and gorgeous. Meilin’s skin reminded Trowa of moonlight, while Wufei’s looked like pale gold.

Trowa found himself staring at them, unable to decide which one was  _ more _ perfect.

“Your guest has arrived.”

Meilin and Wufei looked up, and Trowa found himself trapped by two sets of shining, dark eyes. 

“Excellent,” Meilin seemed to purr. She rose to her knees on the couch. “Please see to it that his room is in order while we get to know him.”

“Of course, Madame.”

“Thank you, Edwin.” Meilin smiled, just a slight shift of her pale lips, and Trowa felt his heart skip a beat.

Beside him, the servant - Edwin - bowed his head and turned to leave.

Wufei rose from behind the piano.

“You are exactly as Quatre described you,” he said, walking over to Trowa and holding out his hand.

Trowa wasn’t entirely sure how to take that.

He shook Wufei’s hand, shivering at how cool and smooth the other man’s hand was. The  _ vampire’s _ hand, Trowa reminded himself.

“I appreciate your offer to let me interview you two and…” Trowa looked around, but the third of their trio, Duo, was nowhere in sight.

“Our companion has some business to attend to now that the sun is setting, but he will join us later, for dinner,” Meilin said, answering his unspoken question. 

“Please, have a seat.” Wufei gestured to the pair of chairs across from the couch.

Trowa sat down on one, taken aback by how incredible comfortable it was.

Meilin arranged herself back on the couch, stretching out her legs and leaning back against the low armrest.

Wufei looked at her, his eyes traveling the length of her body, and then turned to Trowa.

“Would you like something to drink? We have a full bar.” He waved his hand towards a paneled door set into the wall near the marble hallway.

Trowa shook his head. He was tired, after spending most of the day on a plane, and the  _ last _ thing he wanted to do was be drunk - or even less than sober - around these two. He could practically hear Catherine yelling in his ear  _ Constant Vigilance!, _ or some other movie quote that she would think was appropriate.

“Quatre said you were one of the most impressive students he has ever mentored,” Wufei said, sitting down in the chair next to Trowa.

“Professor Winner is a great teacher,” Trowa shrugged off the praise.

“Hm. And what has he taught you about  _ us _ ?” Meilin asked, adding enough emphasis on the word for it to sound like innuendo.

Trowa met her gaze and felt a tingle run down his spine. Her dark eyes seemed full of promise. The promise of  _ what _ , Trowa wasn’t entirely sure.

“He told me that the three of you are the Harbingers. That you… guide the vampire community.”

“Guide.” Wufei’s lips twitched in amusement, and he and Meilin shared a look. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. And your academic focus is… vampiric lore?”

“The role of vampiric lore in the intersection of vampire and human cultures,” Trowa clarified.

“Hmm. Fascinating.”

Trowa couldn’t tell if Meilin actually found it interesting or if she was laughing at him. 

“And you think we would be an asset to your research?” Wufei asked.

“Professor Winner believes so. The three of you have considerable knowledge.”

“True.” Wufei and Meilin traded another glance.

Trowa was a little irritated at the way they seemed to find him so amusing.

Winner looked at Trowa - at several of the students - like that sometimes. Amused and proud, as if Trowa was a precocious child.

“Well,” Wufei spoke up, “our dinner reservations are in an hour. Perhaps we should allow you some time to refresh yourself?”

Trowa blinked in surprise.

“Dinner reservations?”

“Yes, Wufei is a deplorable cook,” Meilin said, sitting up in one smooth, languid motion that drew Trowa’s eyes to her slim body and the shifting of the suit jacket over her skin. “And it’s our treat.”

“I didn’t realize…” Trowa stopped talking, remembering Winner’s rules for not embarrassing him. 

Vampires didn’t eat; not food, in any case - they  _ could _ , but they didn’t gain any sustenance from it, and most vampires were unable to taste it.

Winner had told Trowa that the Harbingers would offer him their hospitality - a place to stay, meals - and that their offer was both an indication of their intentions to keep Trowa safe (and alive) and a reflection on their relationship with Winner. The Harbingers would take care of Trowa because Winner was their friend.

Trowa just hadn’t realized that would mean going  _ out _ to dinner. For some reason, he had pictured himself subsisting on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for his stay.

“Do you like red meat?” Wufei asked, standing up, and Trowa stood as well.

“I don’t have the chance to eat it very often.”

Meilin let out a low, throaty chuckle.

“Wonderful. There’s this lovely little South American steakhouse that serves excellent wine. Do you drink?”

Trowa nodded, but he felt uneasy under her attentive gaze. He reminded himself, once again, that being less than sober in the company of vampires was  _ not _ a good idea.

“Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

She stood up, smoothing down her trousers and the jacket, and Trowa saw that Wufei’s eyes were drawn to her with the same hunger and appreciation that Trowa felt himself. 

Meilin was beautiful, glittering, and most certainly dangerous.

Trowa felt Wufei’s gaze shift to him, and he looked over, meeting it.

Wufei, Trowa couldn’t help but think, was  _ just _ as beautiful, glittering and dangerous.

Trowa felt a little like a moth being drawn towards a flame.

Meilin started to walk out of the room, and Trowa forced himself to look away from Wufei and follow her.

She led him up another flight of stairs, pausing at the top.

“The library is through there,” she waved her hand carelessly towards the right, “and the master suite is through there,” she indicated a closed door at the opposite end of the hall.

She started up another flight of stairs, and Trowa continued to follow her. There was yet another marble hall at the top of the stairs, and Meilin turned to the right, leading Trowa to another closed door.

“This is your room, for as long as you are with us,” she smiled softly, her pale lips curving upwards.

Trowa realized that he hadn’t seen her fangs - hers or Wufei’s. 

It was, he knew, another indication of just how old they were. Most modern vampires, any turned within the last one hundred years at least, had very pronounced fangs. Some were even visible when a vampire’s mouth was in a neutral expression. But the older vampires tended to have smaller fangs - the oldest, like Quatre, had fangs that were barely discernable from human canines.

Meilin opened the door and ushered Trowa into the largest bedroom he had ever seen. 

It was easily the same size as the sitting room downstairs, with the same floor to ceiling windows on one wall, and the same sparse, clean decor.

The bed was enormous - so big that Trowa wondered if there was a mattress size that exceeded a king - and covered in a cream, silk duvet that practically called to his tired body.

The walls were free of decor, except for a mirror directly across from the bed, and another, smaller, traditional Chinese painting on the wall above the bed. The floor had the same dark, red stain to it, and there were red accents throughout the room - dark red curtains on the windows, red throw pillows on the bed.

“Through here is your closet and bathroom. Edwin has laid out your things.” Meilin walked into an anteroom, and Trowa followed her.

By  _ laid out, _ Meilin meant unpacked - all of Trowa’s belongings had been arranged in the closet, either neatly folded or hanging up.

Meilin ran her long, pale fingers over his clothes and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Hm. Perhaps you should change before we go out. Something a little less casual.”

She offered the command with a slight shrug of her shoulders, as if it was just a suggestion, but then she pulled down the hangers with his pair of gray trousers and his green sweater, laying them out on an upholstered bench in the middle of the closet.

She smiled at him again, and even if Trowa  _ had _ been irritated by the way she had just picked out his clothes, he couldn’t have felt anything  _ but _ longing when she turned that expression on him.

“There is another guest room on this floor, and on the fifth floor is a smoking room, as well as Duo’s billiards room, and the study. The terrace is on the next floor - we’ve been told it has lovely views of the sunrise. The pool and Wufei’s gym are downstairs, in the basement. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call for Edwin.”

Meilin gave the instructions as she walked back into the bedroom, finishing with a gesture towards the phone on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. It is our pleasure. Join us again downstairs in… half an hour?” It was again spoken in a tone that suggested a request, but Trowa doubted he had any choice in the matter.

He nodded, and she smiled again before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Even though he was alone, Trowa felt the lingering presence of Meilin - and Wufei. He could  _ feel _ their powers or their essence, or  _ something _ about them, in the air like a perfume or a haze.

He had always been able to feel vampires, to sense them. As a child, he hadn’t known  _ what _ or  _ why _ he felt when he came into contact with certain people. It wasn’t until he was older, until vampires came out, that Trowa started to piece together his reaction to certain individuals with the realization that they were vampires - and that he could  _ feel _ them. It was a difficult feeling to describe, even to himself, and Trowa had never tried to explain it to anyone else, except Catherine, when they had first met six years ago. She had been surprised, but not, as he had feared, doubtful or freaked out. 

It took several minutes for Trowa to feel clear-headed and himself again - for Meilin and Wufei to dissipate from his consciousness - and he felt both relieved and strangely empty.

He tried to push  _ that _ thought away as he went back into the closet and changed into the clothes that Meilin had picked out.

It was, however, the same way Trowa always felt after spending several hours in Professor Winner’s company. But Winner was  _ very _ different from Meilin and Wufei. Winner’s touch was light, almost like sunlight peeking through the leaves on a spring day. Meilin and Wufei, while not oppressive, felt almost tangible - he could practically  _ taste _ them, and it unsettled Trowa just how much he liked that feeling. Meilin reminded Trowa of heat and fire, flickering at him, waiting to consume him. Wufei, on the other hand, felt cold and still - like a great expanse of ice swiftly rising towards him.

If Catherine was here, she would no doubt be shoving Trowa’s clothes back into his bag and ushering him out of the door and into a cab.

 

-o-

 

The restaurant, K Rico, was yet another unexpected and nearly overwhelming experience.

It wasn’t just the fact that it was so far outside of anything that Trowa, trying to make ends meet with only his graduate stipend, would ever have been able to afford.

As soon as they walked into the small, chic little restaurant, Trowa  _ felt _ them. 

Not just Wufei and Meilin - but practically an entire room of vampires.

His breath caught, and he tripped over his own feet as he followed the maitre'd and his hosts towards a table in the back.

Trowa had never been around this many vampires at once - and it really  _ was _ oppressive. He could feel the swirl of their power, their  _ hunger, _ flowing through the air, through  _ him _ . 

Trowa gratefully sat down in the chair beside Meilin, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing for a moment - trying, and failing, to push away all of the alien feelings.

“Trowa?” Wufei reached across the table and placed his cool, strong hand over Trowa’s where it clutched at the tablecloth.

He realized he was probably making a fool of himself - probably breaking some of Professor Winner’s rules - and he forced himself to open his eyes and look up.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat under the concerned gaze of Wufei and the curious one of Meilin. “I… I’m not used to…” he trailed off, the same instinct that had kept him from telling other people about his ability stepping in now. 

Professor Winner trusted them, of course, but Trowa hadn’t even told Winner about this.

“Sorry,” he said again, lamely, and Meilin arched an eyebrow at Wufei, who sat back, releasing Trowa’s hand, and frowned at him thoughtfully.

“Would you like to go somewhere else?” Wufei asked.

_ Yes _ , Trowa wanted to shout, but instead, he shook his head.

“No, no, this is fine.”

They continued to watch him, even when the waiter came back with a glass of water and asked Trowa if he wanted something else to drink.

Trowa, only Trowa. 

If he hadn’t already known, that alone would have made Trowa realize he was in a restaurant that catered mostly to vampires. 

Looking around, he saw that at most tables, only one person was eating, while the other… the other person watched the diner with rapt attention.

Trowa shivered, feeling, once again, the swirl of power and desire around him. 

“Water is fine,” he said.

The waiter nodded, turning to leave, but Meilin stopped him.

“Wait, please, indulge us. They have such an excellent wine selection here.” 

It was another of those not-command-commands of hers.

Trowa tried to think of a polite way to refuse.

“I don’t know much about wine,” he said.

Meilin only smiled, a real, full smile that showed two perfect rows of gleaming teeth.

“He’ll have a bottle of the Bodgea Bouza Tannat,” she told the waiter. “It pairs wonderfully with any of the steaks,” she assured Trowa, who could only nod in acquiescence.

When the waiter returned with the bottle and poured a sample for Trowa to taste, both Meilin and Wufei watched him, Wufei’s lips slightly parted and Meilin’s eyes bright.

Trowa took a cautious sip of the wine. It reminded him of blackberries and licorice and cocoa. 

“It’s good,” he assured his audience.

The waiter poured more wine into his glass, and then started to list the specials for the evening.

The menu, which Trowa had barely had the chance to glance over, listed the prices - and they were exorbitant.  _ Sixty dollars for a steak? _ Trowa could eat for a week on that much money, and then some.

“The Filet Mignon is divine,” Meilin said, tapping his menu when Trowa stared at it blankly.

Trowa arched an eyebrow, wanting to ask how  _ she _ knew that. But, he supposed, he probably wasn’t the  _ first _ human they had brought to this restaurant.

“I’ll have that, then,” Trowa told the waiter, who took his menu and complimented him on the selection.

He left, and Trowa, feeling awkward and anxious, took another sip of the wine. It really  _ was _ good.

“Tell us about yourself,” Wufei suggested, leaning back in his seat, eyes still riveted on Trowa. “After all, you will learn all about  _ us _ this week. It only seems fair that you exchange something for that knowledge.”

Exchange.

Winner had mentioned that - had said that hospitality came without a price, but the rest of it… The information that Trowa wanted from the Harbingers would probably require a bit of negotiation on his part.

“There’s not much to tell,” Trowa said, shrugging. “I’m one of Professor Winner’s students, and-”

“Sorry I’m late!”

Trowa was interrupted by the loud, boisterous voice of a man approaching their table. 

A  _ vampire _ . A vampire whose power hit Trowa like an ocean wave, crashing over him and leaving Trowa struggling to breathe.

“Duo.” Meilin said the name as if it was an endearment, and Trowa watched as the vampire walked around to her chair and leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.

Duo was dressed entirely in black, from his boots to his trousers to the dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and the black vest that showed just how narrow his waist was in comparison to his broad shoulders. His hair, worn in a single long braid that reached past his waist, was a rich blend of browns and reds. 

The kiss went on for some time, long enough for Trowa to realize he was staring at the two as their lips moved together, long enough for Trowa to realize that Wufei was watching  _ him _ watch them with a smirk on his own lips.

Finally, Duo pulled away from Meilin, and Trowa could see that her pale lips were dark and swollen. And Duo’s, when Trowa turned his head, were just as dark and swollen, flushed red with what Trowa had to guess was blood.

But whose?

Duo walked around the table, towards Wufei, and Trowa wasn’t sure how he expected the two vampires to greet each other, but he wasn’t really surprised when Duo repeated the kiss he had given Meilin, bending down and pressing his open mouth against Wufei’s lips, already parted in anticipation.

One of Wufei’s hands came up to cup Duo’s jaw, his thumb rubbing across a loose tendril of hair.

Trowa felt his heart start to race at the sight of their kiss, at the way Meilin, beside him, licked her lips and watched them. 

Erotic didn’t even begin to describe it.

There was something intense and dark and  _ dangerous _ about the way those two men touched each other, and Trowa was filled with equal parts arousal and fear.

Finally, Duo pulled away from Wufei, leaving his lips stained as well, and turned his attention to Trowa.

“You must be Quatre’s little pet.”

Trowa lifted his eyebrows at that.

“His student,” Wufei corrected, his tone a little exasperated.

“Right. Student.” Duo’s eyes twinkled as he moved towards the one open seat at the table, between Wufei and Trowa and across from Meilin. He started to sit, but then paused and gave Trowa a wicked, teasing smirk. He held out his hand towards Trowa. “Or would you like me to greet you the way I just greeted them?”

Trowa glared at the vampire and shook his hand, quickly and firmly.

Duo chuckled, squeezing his hand before releasing Trowa and finally sitting down.

“Sorry that I was late,” Duo said, licking at his lips and then lifting his thumb to rub at the corner of his mouth.

Trowa could very clearly see the smear of blood that came away.

He wondered - had Meilin bitten him? Had Wufei? Or had Duo bitten  _ them _ ?

Would asking fall under Winner’s list of ‘how to not get yourself killed or me embarrassed’? Probably.

“Did things go as expected?” Meilin asked Duo.

He nodded, sucking on his thumb for a moment.

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

The three shared a dark, silent look, and Trowa could feel the tension between them.

“Anyway,” Duo broke the moment and smirked at Trowa again, “what have I missed?”

“Trowa was just about to regale us with tales of his exciting life,” Meilin said, her voice and face once again amused.

Trowa just barely refrained from glaring at her.

“It isn’t that exciting,” he assured them.

“Oh, I think you would be surprised just how exciting your life is.” Wufei’s voice was idle, but there was something in his eyes that implied he already knew a great deal about Trowa.

It was intimidating, to have that dark stare seem to look right through him.

Trowa took another sip of his wine.

“Tell us,” Duo suggested, his lips smirking once again, and Trowa felt a tug, a  _ desire _ to suddenly tell Duo everything about his entire life, from growing up in a foster home and suffering abuse from his foster mother to being humiliated in middle school when he tried to kiss another boy to crying when he saw Star Wars for the first time to sitting in his car and screaming in frustration when he had been accepted to Harvard for undergrad and hadn’t had the money to attend to the day he had met Catherine in a coffeeshop and their failed attempts at dating before settling into an almost fraternal friendship to his utter relief at being accepted into Stanford for graduate school and being offered an assistantship to cover his expenses. He wanted to tell Duo  _ everything _ , even about his ability to sense vampires.

“I-”

“Duo.” It was Wufei, voice harsh and commanding.

The other vampire sighed and leaned back in his chair, pouting, and Trowa felt the compulsion to speak fade away.

“What did you just do to me?” Trowa demanded, glaring at him.

“ _ Nothing _ ,” Duo muttered, sending a dirty look in Wufei’s direction. “He wouldn’t let me.”

“You tried to make me tell you everything. You-”

“I apologize,” Wufei spoke up, trying to soothe Trowa. He reached across the table again, but Trowa snatched his hand away before the vampire could touch him. Wufei sighed and sent Duo an aggravated look.

“I’m sorry,” Duo mumbled. “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re our guest, and we promised Quatre to be all nice and gentle with you.” He ran a hand through his bangs, sending them fluttering around his pale face and vibrant, indigo eyes. “I just had to deal with some incredibly unpleasant people and I’m feeling on edge. I shouldn’t have done that to you, however. And I am sorry.”

He certainly sounded genuine, but Trowa really didn’t think he could trust him.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s… it’s a thing I do.” Duo leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I can compel people to tell me the truth, and I just spent an hour… look, the point is, I’m sorry. I know you won’t be able to feel it, but I just… nudge you towards wanting to talk to me. Humans don’t understand it, or know  _ why _ they want to talk to me, but they do. When I want them to.”

Except Trowa  _ had _ felt it. He had felt the power in Duo’s simple command of  _ tell us _ .

“All vampires have certain… abilities,” Wufei spoke up.

Trowa nodded. He knew that. He  _ also _ knew that they weren’t supposed to use them on humans without the human consenting. And Trowa had  _ not _ consented.

He continued to glare at Duo.

“It won’t happen again. I swear.”

“It won’t,” Wufei agreed, steel in his words, and Trowa turned to look at him. “Duo can compel people to speak to him, to tell him the truth and the secrets they never want to share. Meilin can compel people to feel things - emotions, sensations.  _ I _ can compel people to act, or  _ not _ act. Duo will  _ not _ use his powers on you again without your consent.”

Duo sighed and nodded in agreement.

“How will I know? How will I know  _ you _ aren’t forcing me to consent or-”

“You won’t,” Meilin interrupted him. “As Duo said, humans can’t feel our powers at work. You simply have to trust our word, now that we have given it. You have to trust that your professor has your best interests at heart.”

Which made Trowa realize an entirely  _ new _ threat.

“What can he do? Professor Winner?”

“He can sense the emotions of those around him and, if he has a deep enough connection, their thoughts.”

Trowa tried to think back, tried to remember if he had ever felt the same kind of pressure from Quatre that he had just felt from Duo. He couldn’t remember - and he didn’t know if that meant Quatre had never done it, or if he was just  _ better _ at doing it.

“You know, of course, that vampires have powers - in addition to our ability to give our  _ donors _ ,” Wufei said the word with a slight grimace, as though he didn’t like the term, “pleasure when we take their blood.”

Trowa nodded again.

“Aside from Quatre, it is doubtful you have ever encountered one of the Old Order before. There are not too many of us left, and most of the New Order, vampires created less than five hundred years ago, do not have powers as strong as ours.”

“I met a vampire who could make flowers bloom,” Trowa said, “and I thought it was the most impressive thing in the world.” He felt foolish, now. Coaxing a flower to bloom was certainly beyond  _ Trowa’s _ capabilities - but making a human, or a vampire - tell you their secrets? Make them feel what you wanted them to feel? Make them  _ do _ what you wanted them to do? That was terrifying.

It was even more terrifying when Trowa considered just how many myths - how much of Vampiric - had no basis in reality. Vampires didn’t fear garlic, or holy items. The only three widely-held beliefs about vampires that  _ were _ true - they burned in sunlight, they could not enter a physical place without an invitation, and a stake through their hearts would kill them - would not help Trowa much in this situation. After all, he didn’t  _ want _ to kill them. And he was staying in  _ their _ home.

Trowa’s meal arrived, and he continued to stew on his realizations as he ate.

He had known he would be hopelessly outclassed by the Harbingers - had known they were old and powerful, and  _ he _ was young and stupid and  _ human _ . But with every passing second, Trowa was starting to realize that Catherine had been right to warn him off. 

Trowa had nearly finished his steak, and had just emptied his fourth glass of wine, when he looked up to see that all three vampires were watching him, their entire focus on him.

They were so still, they may as well have been dead, except for their eyes, tracking Trowa’s glass to his lips, his fork to his plate and to his mouth. They watched him chew and drink, and it looked as if they thought he was the most fascinating creature they had ever laid eyes on.

It was exactly how the other vampires in the restaurant were watching  _ their _ humans.

Trowa managed to finish his meal, the awareness of their focus making him acutely aware of each bite and sip he took, and when he finished and pushed his plate away, each of the vampires sighed and leaned back in their seats, seemingly as sated as Trowa was.

“Did you enjoy it?” Meilin asked, and Trowa nodded. It  _ had _ been good, even if it had felt a little like giving a lecture in front of a packed auditorium.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I thought, perhaps, you would be a little tired after your travels today,” Wufei said. “We can take you back to our home, and allow you to rest for the night. Tomorrow night, we can begin to answer the questions you have for us, and perhaps Meilin or Duo will show you some of the sites in the city.”

Trowa looked between the two vampires. Duo had already tried to force Trowa to do what he wanted and failed. Meilin, on the other hand,  _ hadn’t _ used her powers, and had still made Trowa do what she wanted.

He didn’t feel particularly comfortable having  _ either _ of them as his escort through the dark streets of New York City.

 

-o-

Trowa slept for much of the day, waking in the middle of the afternoon and feeling both lazy and, for the first time in what felt like years, well-rested. 

He showered, dressed and wandered through the house, up to the rooftop, where he was able to see all of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline, and then he went back downstairs, hungry and curious.

On the third floor, he saw the still-closed door to the master suite that he had seen last night, and he hesitated.

After watching Duo greet Meilin and Wufei last night, Trowa felt very confident the three of them shared that room, and  _ that _ thought filled Trowa’s mind with all kinds of inappropriate questions.

“Looking for something?”

Trowa turned at the sound of a woman’s voice, and saw a short, dark haired woman walking towards him from the library. 

She was dressed in dark, fitted clothing that looked vaguely martial.

“I was looking for the kitchen.”

“It’s on the first floor, beyond the foyer.”

Trowa nodded, but he hesitated before walking down the stairs.

“I’m Trowa,” he said. “I-”

“I know who you are,” she smirked in amusement. “I’m Hilde, their Sentinel.”

Trowa nodded at the explanation.

Sentinels were humans - or witches - who had bonded with a vampire. Human tradition labeled them as human servants, but in reality, Sentinels were almost completely autonomous, and their bond with a vampire gave them incredible strength and increased their lifespan. The only  _ service _ they typically provided a vampire was keeping them from being murdered during daylight, while they slept.

It was strange, however, that she had said  _ their _ Sentinel. Typically, Sentinel bonded with a single vampire - not a group.

“Shall I hold your hand and walk you down the stairs?” Hilde prompted when Trowa still didn’t move.

He felt his lips twitch at the sarcastic offer.

“I think I can manage,” he assured her.

“Good. They’ll wake in two hours. Wufei suggested that you might occupy yourself in the library until then.  _ After _ you’ve eaten, of course.”

“Of course,” Trowa agreed.

Hilde continued to watch him as he descended the stairs.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never finished the chapter, or the fic. 
> 
> It was going to involve Trowa's "power" eventually being exposed and, shocker of all shockers, putting him at the risk of Treize's evil plans to take over everything and ruin all the fun. It was going to be a 2x3x5xM.


	5. Other People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a theatre fic I started for Amberly. I still... I really want to come back to this. I'm not going to post my notes for it on the off chance that I DO come back to it.

A/N: Oh look! Another WIP when there are literally dozens of other WIPs I could be writing. I’m sorry. Writing is a fickle, mercurial thing for me and I struggle to stay motivated. So, when an idea hits me, I feel the need to pursue it.

 

A/N2: Not all theatres are created equal. This theatre is entirely fictional, cobbled together from my experiences working in regional theatre around the country. Regional theatre itself is an interesting term, technically it should only refer to a theatre belonging to the League of Resident Theatres (LORT A-D), but a lot of LOA theatres, who have a Letter of Agreement with Actor’s Equity and LORT, call themselves regional theatres and this has been going on for at least a decade and a half. In the hierarchy of theatre, if you want to assign one, in the US you have Broadway, and below that on equal(ish) footing you have LORT and large Off-Broadway theatres like the Public (where  _ Hamilton _ premiered as did  _ A Chorus Line _ ), then you have other Off-Broadway theatres, then “regional” theatres (of which summer theatres might qualify, if they have LOAs), then you have professional theatres (they pay people and the goal is to be a business), community theatre (people just there to put on a play, they might get a stipend but this is not the main source of income for MOST of the people working there. I also want to note that community theatre, while at the bottom of this hierarchy, is not BAD. Community theatres can be INCREDIBLE and I will defend their right to exist and to be considered as fantastic to my death). Academic theatres exist on a different track, I don’t like to lump them into this hierarchy. 

The theatre I am creating here is an LOA regional theatre: I will explain their season in more detail as the story progresses, but essentially they have a mixed season: four Equity shows that are rehearsed and produced in-house, a youth theatre ensemble that produces four shows a year, and then a summer and winter concert series with musicians being invited in to perform, as well as a spring and fall dance concert where dance companies come in and perform. It’s a busy schedule, but I’ve worked at busier places. I might change their season up depending on how I feel or based on reader feedback.

 

A/N3: I will try to explain as much as I can as we go, dropping in information in a way that isn’t boring or painful to read or giant author’s notes like the above, but if you have specific questions, please, please do not hesitate to ask them!

 

A/N4: As always, a special thanks to Ro for support, beta reading, and general amazingness. I also want to thank Amberly and Maeve, for encouraging me and for being lovely, lovely friends. And Amberly in particular, for helping me tweak Solo and Duo’s relationship to a much better idea than my original. 

 

A/N5: Reviews, I have to say, make my day. They make me smile and float and sigh in delight and are truly an inspiration.

 

A/N6: Not a Wilmington native. Have never even been there except to drive through. I have spent a fair amount of time in Southport, which I am aware is super different. But I wanted a southern beach location and North Carolina is… well. Near if not dear to my heart. I am also basing the theatre itself a little on Thalian Hall and a LOT on the dozens of theatres I have worked in over the years. The theatre I am describing doesn’t really exist - it’s a combination of them all.

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex, drugs, rock n’ roll (sorry I had to)

 

Pairings: will change. I will try to update as we go. The MAIN pairing will be 2x3, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have 2x? And 3x? In fact, this fic starts out as 2 x Solo. If there is a pairing you are really jonesing for, let me know and I will see if I can work it in.

  
  
  


_ Other People _

Chapter One

 

The smell was the first thing that hit him. 

The theatre was already dark, only the faint, warm glow of the ghost light on stage casting a thin gold haze over the first rows of the audience and barely illuminating the edge of the stage and the drop down into the orchestra pit.

Even so, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

It was the same. The faintest whiff of mildew, of age and decay being beaten back by lemon-scented carpet cleaner, and he could smell the sawdust and ozone, barely there, but still discernable.

“How’s it feel to be home?”

He opened his eyes and looked at the outline of the woman beside him. The woman who was the closest thing he had ever had to a family. Who had called him two days ago and begged a favor from him. The kind of favor that required him to move across the country and walk through memories with every step he took.

It was an effort to bite back all of the things he wanted to say.

“Weird,” was what he settled on as being close to the truth without being offensive.

She smiled and nudged his shoulder with her own. 

“It’s really good to have you. It’s… I appreciate this. So does Howard. I know it’s asking a lot and-”

“No, it’s not asking a lot,” he cut her off. “I’m… glad I could help out.”

She smiled at him again.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to your office and let you get settled.”

He followed her down the outside aisle on the right side of the audience. At the very front, on either side of the orchestra pit, were two sets of stairs that led up to the stage. He followed her up those, using memory to judge the rise, and then they were on the stage. 

He risked a glance over his shoulder, out into the darkness, and he felt the creep of nausea again working its way through his belly. The same feeling he had been fighting for the last two days, ever since he got the call.

_ “Hey, Trowa? It’s Cathy, from Wilmington - from The Algonquin Theatre? I know it’s been a long time. I hope you’ve been doing well - you never update your Facebook page! All that’s on there are photos or things other people tag you in. It makes you very hard to stalk! Anyway, I’m calling because I need to ask you a work question. Please call me back when you can.” _

He hadn’t returned the call. He hadn’t answered the phone when it rang, when he saw the Wilmington area code and felt dread curl through him. Even after listening to the message, even after feeling himself smile at the sound of Cathy’s warm voice, Trowa hadn’t been able to bring himself to return the call. It was from a different lifetime, a different  _ world _ , and he had done everything he could in the last ten years to put it behind him.

But it was Cathy. So of course she called again, the day after she had left the message, and Trowa had been on a ladder, a knife clamped between his teeth, one hand holding onto the sign that was  _ refusing _ to light up no matter how many times they rewired the damn thing, and his other hand fumbling for his multi-tool. And of course Matt, who should have been just minding the ladder and not reaching into Trowa’s back pocket for anything unless it was a prelude to them fucking, pulled out his phone and answered it.

And Trowa had to listen to Matt, with his casual, California drawl, making small talk with Cathy while Trowa did his level best to fix the  _ fucking _ sign, and eventually Matt had told him to come down from the ladder and answer the phone and let him have a go.

Trowa had glared and scowled and mentally called Matt every explicative he could think of because the only reason  _ Trowa _ was on the ladder in the first place trying to fix it was because Matt had said he had tried  _ everything he could think of _ and could Trowa please just look at it?

But he had climbed down, had put away his tools and taken the phone away from Matt’s ear even though the other man was mid-sentence, was in the middle of telling some embarrassing and depressingly unembellished story about Trowa that no one, especially Cathy, needed to hear.

Matt had arched an eyebrow at Trowa’s glare, but had relinquished the phone and then called for a hand while Trowa took the phone and walked off the stage and into the house so he could sit down in relative privacy.

He hoped Cathy hung up before he made it to the mezzanine balcony.

“Cathy?” 

She didn’t.

“Trowa! Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice! How have you been? How do you like Phoenix? How is the tour? It sounds like you have so many friends there! And  _ Matt  _ seems really fantastic!”

It was a flood - Cathy’s words and her enthusiasm and Trowa’s memories. 

Trowa looked down to the stage, to where Matt was busy calling the sign a lousy piece of shit and- Trowa hadn’t realized Matt  _ knew _ German.

“I’m good. Phoenix is hot - we head to Sacramento in three days. The tour is good, almost over. Matt is… fine.”

Matt, a carpenter on the show who was a few years younger than Trowa and seemed to lack all understanding of personal boundaries, was okay to work with but undemanding and enthusiastic in bed. He and Trowa had been fucking since the tour stop in Atlanta two months ago.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Trowa wondered why she had called, wondered what question she wanted to ask him, wondered what-

“How have you been?” He felt like an idiot, like a rude, selfish idiot for not thinking to ask the question right away. 

Cathy had been there for him during some of the worst times in his life, and Trowa was too much of an asshole to even think to ask her how she was. 

Her voice broke through his mental haranguing.

“I’ve been good - still working at the Algonquin, obviously. I’m the general manager now.”

“You aren’t doing the Youth Ensemble anymore?” For some reason, the thought of Cathy, who had given him a mask and pushed him onto the stage for the first time, no longer working with children was depressing. 

“ _ I’m _ not, the Algonquin is - we have a wonderful director for the Youth Ensemble now - Relena Darlian. Really, really amazing. You’d like her, I think.”

Trowa arched an eyebrow at that. Considering the fact that Trowa notoriously - then and now - liked almost  _ no one _ \- he wondered what made her think he would like her replacement. 

“In your message, you said you had a work question for me?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yes.” He could hear her draw in a deep breath and he felt a weight settle in his gut. 

_ Fuck _ .

“Our technical director just took a job in Dubai. He, well, he left yesterday morning, and we’re… we’re in the middle of the season and we open  _ Metamorphoses _ in less than a month and we have a full slate of concerts this summer, the Youth Ensemble performances and then the fall programs, and we… Well, Howard and I are desperate.”

Howard, the scruffy, Hawaiian shirt-wearing Artistic Director who looked better suited to spending his days with a metal detector and a Pina Colada searching for treasure on the beach than running a professional theatre, had been just as instrumental in changing Trowa’s life as Cathy had.

“What do you need?” he asked. 

He knew more than a few technicians who had gone to work in Macau or Dubai - the two hot spots for insanely well-paying theatre work these days. But he didn’t know any who left  _ suddenly _ in the middle of a season. 

“We need a new Technical Director - one who knows the space and can get us through the next few months, at least, and I was hoping-”

Trowa tried to rack his brain for people he knew, people who wouldn’t mind leaving behind substantially better-paying jobs in NYC or LA to go work at a mid-level professional theatre in the relative obscurity of Wilmington, North Carolina. 

“I don’t really know anyone who’s available. But I can make a few calls and-”

“Trowa, we were… Howard and I were hoping  _ you _ could come back.”

“ _ Me? _ ”

He said it too loudly, and a few of the stagehands looked up at him.

Cathy drew in another deep breath, and he  _ knew _ she was preparing to launch into a Talk.

“I know it’s asking a lot, Trowa, I do. I know you’ve got your tour, and your entire, amazing life that you’ve built and I-  _ we _ just need someone who knows the space, who  _ cares _ about the Algonquin, and who can help us get through  _ Metamorphoses _ and the summer concerts at least. And  _ you _ \- you know the space, you know the quality we expect, and you are  _ so _ talented and- and your tour wraps up in three weeks. Is there  _ any _ way you could take a leave?”

Trowa leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

_ Why _ ?  _ Why was this happening to him now? _

Now, when he was only three weeks from the end of a tour, when he had only just yesterday received an email from the NYC scene shop manager saying that she wanted to meet with Trowa when he got back to town to talk about some opportunities for him. When he hadn’t been back to Wilmington in ten years and felt perfectly happy to  _ never _ go back.

But Cathy and Howard - they had raised him, more or less, had shown him that people could be decent and  _ good _ and that he could make something of himself, could be happy, could escape.

He owed them.

“HA!!!! Take that, you filthy little fuck!”

Onstage, Matt had managed to make the sign work again.

“I need to think about it,” Trowa told Cathy. “Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Of course. I- I really appreciate this, Trowa. I appreciate you thinking about it. I know- I know Wilmington isn’t your favorite place in the world. But the Algonquin-”

_ Is home. _

She didn’t need to say it, and he couldn’t bring himself to.

 

-o-

 

He followed Cathy across the dark stage, reached past her to yank open the stage door that still, ten years later, caught on the slightly rusted metal frame, and he stepped into the cavernous scene shop.

How many hours had Trowa spent in this shop?

He had started off just lurking near the theatre, desperate to avoid going home, and Cathy had been the one to drag him to the Youth Ensemble, had been the one to teach him improv and win a smile from him. But once Trowa had met the carpenters, the painters and electricians, once he had seen the magic of turning a flat piece of wood into marble, he had drifted from onstage to off, spending every moment he could shadowing the foul-mouthed technicians, learning everything he could. There was magic in stagecraft, in transforming the ordinary into a new world.

It looked so different, and so achingly familiar at the same time. 

There was new equipment - a new table saw thankfully replacing the one that Trowa used to think had been made during the Civil War - new chop saws, a panel saw, welding equipment and a scroll saw. But there were also the same old workhouses that Trowa had learned on - the drill press, the bench grinder and sander, the radial arm saw. The tool cage had been expanded, the work tables rebuilt, the walls repainted. A few dozen new layers of glue, paint and grime added to the shop floor.

The Technical Director’s office was the same, more or less. It had, at some point maybe twenty or thirty years ago, been built into the wall of the shop, extending out to create an eight by eight foot cubicle, complete with door and a huge window. Above the office was storage - stacks and stacks of chairs - and when the door was closed, all sound from the shop floor was amazingly blocked off. 

Trowa had spent the night in that office a few times, had snuck out of his own bed when things were too awful and slipped through the door by the loading dock that had the shitty lock that was easy to pick. 

The office was just big enough to accommodate an enormous desk, several filing cabinets, and a lumpy couch that had felt like heaven to curl into.

When Cathy led him over to the office and unlocked it before dropping a bulging ring of keys into Trowa’s hand, Trowa looked over her shoulder and couldn’t help but feel disappointed to see that the couch had been replaced with something new and relatively stain-free.

“Well, here you are - I’ll let you get settled in?”

Trowa moved past her and set down his backpack by the desk. 

It was an absolute mess. It looked like Solo had left so suddenly that he hadn’t even bothered to properly shutdown the desktop computer  _ or _ put any of the dozens of plans and sketches on his desk into any folders or order of any kind.

“Thanks.”

Trowa wondered what would happen if he just lit the desk on fire. Wondered if Cathy or Howard would ever forgive him.

“We’ve got a production meeting scheduled for this afternoon - four o’clock. I’ll come find you a little before then and take you over?”

“Take me over?” he echoed, confused. “I know where the conference room is. Unless you’ve moved it?”

The theatre had definitely undergone some renovations in the last ten years. He hadn’t thought it was anything major, aside from the addition of a second and third performance spaces attached to the main building.

“No, no - that’s still in the same place. But we always do Friday production meetings at Sir Ed’s. It’s a block and a half away. It’s a bar.”

That was, Trowa thought bitterly, the first good news he had heard in days.

 

-o-

It had taken almost twenty minutes for Trowa to put the desk to rights - or at least, to shove enough things out of the way or off of it to actually  _ work _ . 

He had his Mac open on one side of the desk, the ancient desktop chugging away on the other side, and a battered, coffee-stained set of architectural drawings of the theatre spread out in between. He had the design package open on his computer, and the meager drafting that Solo had embarked on open on the desktop. 

_ What the fuck have I gotten myself into? _

This was a disaster, a nightmare of epic proportions - this was worse than the time that the tour truck had been hijacked in El Paso  and half of the moving lights stolen. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad - then again, no. It was worse. Insurance had covered that.

There was no insurance to cover  _ this _ .

In fact, insurance might be part of the problem.

Mary Zimmerman’s  _ Metamorphoses _ was a good play, a great show with a strong narrative and enough spectacle to make audiences ooh and ahh even as they dabbed tears from their eyes. The ‘spectacle’ being the fact that the play required a giant pool of water in which there was a battle, sex, a few deaths and the most depressing happy ever after ending Trowa had ever seen. 

Trowa had seen the play performed before, actually  _ liked _ the play, and the designs for  _ this _ production looked interesting and challenging as hell.

Because you couldn’t just plop down a twenty by twenty foot, three feet deep pool of water on a stage that was sixty years old and  _ pray _ that the stage deck didn’t collapse under the weight. 

First, you needed to figure out if the deck could hold the weight. Which meant finding the plans for the theatre and doing a hell of a lot of math. 

Of course, the only set of plans Trowa had been able to find so far looked to be as old as  _ he _ was - and while that wasn’t exactly a bad sign, they were nearly impossible to read between the stains and faded ink.

Trowa was in the middle of opening up every single file on the desktop, praying for an updated set of drawings of the theatre so he could even  _ begin _ to calculate the load that the stage deck could hold, when he heard whistling. 

On tour, and at University before that, Trowa had worked with enough old-timers and enough superstitious techs, that hearing someone  _ whistle _ in a theatre was novel, bizarre and irritating. It was one of those things you just didn’t  _ do. _

Already frustrated by the seeming disorder that Solo had worked in, by the fact that the files on the computer were in  _ no _ way logically named or organized, by the lack of basic R&D that Solo had done on a show that was opening in  _ a month _ , and confronted by the reality that he might really be in way,  _ way _ over his head - Trowa looked up from the computer and glared through the large window in the TD office that overlooked the scene shop.

Swaggering through the shop,  _ whistling _ , twirling a key ring in one hand and holding an industrial-sized coffee thermos in the other, was a lean, black-clad figure. Trowa couldn’t immediately tell if it was a man or a woman - the shoulder-length braid of brown hair and messy bangs could just as easily belong to a man or a woman, and they were still too far away for Trowa to make out their features. He  _ could _ make out the red bandana tied around their neck and the batman logo on the black t-shirt that clung to a trim torso.

The figure walked past the window, past the open door of Trowa’s office, and out of sight.

Before Trowa had even  _ tried _ to focus on the mess in front of him, the figure was back, features drawn together in a scowl.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Male, Trowa decided, taking in the baritone voice and the firm jaw-line that anchored otherwise androgynous features. His eyes were a dark blue and absolutely  _ furious _ .

Trowa arched an eyebrow, baffled by the rage being directed at him.

“Trowa.”

His name did nothing to alleviate the other man’s anger or confusion.

“Are you the welcoming committee?” he asked, probably too snarky, but his anxiety and frustrations - combined with the fucking  _ whistling _ \- getting the better of him.

The man stared, Trowa’s sarcasm clearly unsettling him.

“I’m Duo.”

_ Duo _ . 

Trowa mentally reviewed the staff list that Cathy had emailed him yesterday. 

_ Duo Maxwell _ . The master electrician. 

What was it Cathy had said about him?

_ We’re still teaching him how to play well with others _ .

There was definitely a  _ lot _ of room for improvement, Trowa couldn’t help but think.

“We should probably sit down and talk about the schedule today,” Trowa forced himself to be neutral and professional. “There’s a film in the black box tomorrow night, and then we have strike on Sunday and then-”

Duo held up a hand to forestall Trowa.

“I know what we have coming up. Zechs, Solo and I populated the calendar last week. But who the fuck  _ are _ you?”

Duo seemed genuinely confused, as if seeing someone,  _ anyone _ , in this office was unexpected.

“I’m the new Technical Director.”

“You- you’re the- So he took the fucking job, then, huh? Fucking-” Duo turned away, shaking his head and muttering. He once again left the office and, a moment later, Trowa heard the distinctive sound of metal clanging on concrete.

Reluctantly, Trowa got to his feet and leaned out of the door to look.

At the other end of the shop he could see Duo, shoulders hunched, standing in a pool of coffee, the huge thermos on the ground by his feet.

  
  
  


-o-

End note: Hey!!! Help me figure out what the season should be. Tell me your favorite play or musical, or any suggestion of bands, dance companies, etc. I will try to work them in!


	6. All the While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another theatre fic. This one for Maevemauvaise and Laurathia.

A/N: For Maeve and Tina - and me - AND any other 3x5xM fans out there. Probably going to be a bit late for Valentine’s Day but I’m going to try!

  
  


A/N2: Went ahead and decided the show they were working on is  _ The Pillowman _ because I love it. If you aren’t familiar with the play, and you like dark, fucked up stories, I suggest you go out and get a copy. It reads really well - you don’t have to see it to love it.

 

A/N3: Thank you, always, always Ro, for beta reading!

 

Warnings: language, smut

 

Pairings: 3x5xM, 5xM, 6x2

  
  


_ All The While _

  
  


“...So you want cue 47 called  _ after _ he comes onstage?”

The question caught Wufei between bites, and he chewed furiously for a moment before nodding.

“Yes - just as he gets to the downstage archway, that’s when I want the light to change,” he explained to the stage manager, Duo.

“Okay, gotcha…” Duo bit down on the corner of his lip as he erased the note he had previously made in his script and replaced it with Wufei’s new call. “Alright… let’s see… There was something in Act 2 you wanted to change also…” Duo started flipping through his script, and Wufei took the opportunity to shovel a few more bites of salad into his mouth.

It was the night of the final dress rehearsal for  _ The Pillowman,  _ and Wufei had had to grab a salad from a vendor at Penn Station as he changed trains from New Jersey to the subway to get to the hole in the wall off-Broadway theatre where the show was being produced. He had had a production meeting for another show, and as a result, he had arrived cranky, hungry, and more than a little stressed out.

But, at least, on time. 

He had asked Duo to come in early so they could go over the lighting cues and make a few adjustments, and the stage manager had rolled his eyes, muttered something about ‘lighting designers who need to get laid more’, but agreed to it.

“Oh, yeah, right here - you told me you wanted cue 84 called when the projection fades, but Meilan wants it called  _ before, _ and-”

Wufei rolled his eyes.

“Meilan isn’t the lighting designer,” he pointed out.

“No, but she’s the scenic designer and the projections designer,” a loud, irritated female voice called out from backstage.

Wufei sighed and looked up and, sure enough, Meilan walked onstage, glaring out into the dark seats and up to the booth where Duo and Wufei were huddled over the prompt book.

“Fine.  _ Why _ do you want it called before the projections fade?”

Meilan gave an irritated huff, as if it should be  _ obvious _ why she wanted it done her way, and Wufei rolled his eyes.

“If you call it before they fade, it creates a transition back into the world - if you wait and do it  _ after _ they fade, it chops the moment off and it’s too abrupt. We need to slowly come back to the interrogation room - the projected scenes are the escape. You can’t fuck with that.”

Wufei wanted to argue with her, wanted to stick to his original intention because he thought it looked crisper but…

But she was right.

As she too-often was.

“Fine,” Wufei grumbled to Duo, “change it.”

Wisely, Duo remained silent, but the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

This was the fifth show in the last two years that the three of them had worked together on, so Duo was no doubt used to the peculiar relationship Wufei and Meilan had by now.

Of course, Wufei and Meilan had been working together for even longer. They had first met in grad school, six years ago, and had gotten into a near shouting match within fifteen minutes of being introduced. For the three years it took to earn their MFAs, Wufei and Meilan had been assigned to work together more often than not - to the point that it became a running joke for the other designers and stage managers to bring popcorn to the early production meetings on each new production so they could enjoy the “show” of Wufei and Meilan hashing things out. And while they tended to argue a  _ lot,  _ they also, once they were past the majority of their arguments, managed to work together to create stunning designs.

For a year, after graduation, Wufei had worked in London, assisting renown designers and trying his best to be noticed for more than his skills at updating paperwork and ability to function without sleep. Eventually, however, he had moved to New York City, and the very first show he booked as a lighting designer in his own right had also been with Meilan as the scenic designer. 

“Well, that’s all I had - do you want to talk through anything else, or do you mind if I go run over a few notes with Zechs?”

Wufei arched an eyebrow.

Zechs Merquise, the director for the show, had proven to be as notoriously narcissistic and brilliant as his reputation had suggested. Wufei had been surprised, however, by the way that Zechs treated Duo - with respect, even courtesy. It was an unfortunately rare thing for directors to really appreciate their stage managers, and Wufei had been fully prepared to revise his opinion of Zechs as an arrogant- if genius - ass. Until three nights ago, when he had stayed late to refocus and re-patch a few of the lights and walked in on Duo and Zechs in the green room. Thankfully, neither man had noticed Wufei, and Wufei had fled the scene, trying in vain to scrub the mental image of Duo on his knees in front of Zechs, sucking his cock while Zechs looked down at him with something very close to affection on his face.

“Any notes I should know about?” Wufei asked.

Duo’s face turned red, and Wufei had to smirk.

“Er, uh, no. Just a few… transition things and… producer notes…”

“Right.”

Duo, still flushed, slammed his prompt book closed and booked it out of the booth.

Wufei lingered, however, pulling up a few of the cues as he finished off his salad and tweaking the light levels.

While he worked, Meilan continued to fuss with the set, using a knife to chip away some of the paint on the walls, distressing the already thoroughly depressing interrogation room even more.

She was wearing her standard work attire of paint-spattered leggings and sweatshirt that was easily three sizes too large, her hair pulled up into a bun with more than a few strands escaping to frame her face. 

Wufei realized he was spending more time staring at her than he was eating or working, and he sighed and forced himself to focus.

In truth, though, Wufei was just tweaking things at this point. The show could have opened tonight - hell, it could have opened  _ last _ night. The entire technical staff had been on the same page and, bizarrely, ahead of schedule for weeks now. 

It wasn’t all that often that Wufei found himself in the position of having to sit through a dress rehearsal and knowing full well that, unless Duo planned to fall asleep at the light board, he would have no notes to give, nothing to fix, nothing to  _ do _ .

He was fairly certain Meilan was in the same position - she seemed to be trying to find something to fix, when, in reality, the set was as close to perfect as it could be. 

She always impressed him, but this set, in particular, was a testament to her talent. He had been relieved when he had learned she would be the set designer - he cared too much about this show to want to work with a designer he didn’t respect and trust implicitly. And, after two weeks of snarky emails, three meetings over coffee between just them and another two meetings with the director, Meilan and Wufei had figured out the world of the play, and Wufei knew this show was going to be one that he looked back on and judged all others against.

By the time he finished his salad and finished stepping through every cue in the show, Duo returned to the booth, his hair a little mussed but otherwise there was no evidence that he and Zechs had been  _ going over notes _ .

Wufei shouldn’t say anything… but it was too difficult not to.

“Did he get you a Valentine card?”

Duo looked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Zechs. Did he give you a Valentine?”

“No? Why… why would he?”

Wufei arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe because you’ve been fucking him for two months?” It was a guess - Wufei had just walked in on them the one time, but after that, he had thought back to the interactions between Duo and Zechs, tried to figure out just when their relationship moved past a strictly professional level. He was fairly confident it had to have been after the very first meeting - when Zechs had sneered at Duo’s flippant attitude and made a handful of snarky comments. By the next day, however, when the production team met the cast and they had a read thru of the play, Zechs hadn’t been at all snarky towards Duo and had, in fact, cast several lingering looks in his direction.

Duo cheeks flushed, and Wufei wondered if he was going to try to deny it.

“We aren’t twelve. Why the fuck would he get me a Valentine?” Duo finally muttered. “‘S’not like you got one for Mei, did you?”

Wufei scoffed.

“Meilan and I aren’t dating.”

“Neither are Zechs and I. Like you said, we’ve just been fucking for two months. You and Mei, though…”

“What?”

Duo shrugged.

“Nothing. Just, I mean… how many times has she slept over at your place in the last month?”

Wufei shrugged one shoulder, refusing to feel defensive.

“A few. The MTA is a pain in the ass late at night, and it just makes sense for her to stay over.”

“Uh huh. And after these little sleepovers… how often do you two have breakfast together the next morning?”

Wufei scowled at him.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Duo smirked.

“Nothing, nothing. That’s just normal dating stuff. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

Wufei rolled his eyes.

“We are  _ not _ dating.”

“You know, I feel like we’ve had this conversation before… like… the  _ last _ show we all worked on together? And the one before that? And the one before that?”

Wufei sighed.

It was true - he and Duo had been having this argument for two years now. 

But, as Wufei had already said, they weren’t dating.

Meilan didn’t do relationships - that’s what she had said to him the opening night of their first show in grad school, when she had pushed him into the bathroom at the bar hosting the cast party and yanked down his trousers and shoved a condom into his hand. She didn’t have time for them, didn’t have the patience to deal with the emotional pitfalls of sharing her life with someone else. 

Wufei felt exactly the same - which explained why the three relationships he had had in the last five years had all ended after only a few months of dating, the longest only lasting six months.

He and Meilan seemed to always find their way to each other - always during the shows they designed together, and it had become as familiar and expected a part of the design process as their inevitable arguments and the satisfying final product.

It was, if Wufei was honest with himself, both the best and worst part of working with her. It was certainly the worst part of tech week. She almost always spent tech weeks at his apartment in Manhattan, her own in Brooklyn just far enough away that they managed to convince each other that she should stay over. She would come over tonight, and tomorrow night after the opening night party - and then she would go back to Brooklyn and float out of his life until work brought them together again. 

“We aren’t dating,” he repeated to Duo before standing up. He tossed his empty salad container into the trash and grabbed his bag.

He walked out of the booth, resolutely ignoring Duo’s snort of amused disagreement.

To get into the theatre itself, he had to go through the main lobby of the theatre, and as he cut through, he bumped into someone.

An unfamiliar someone.

A tall, sculpted, smirking someone with a fall of auburn hair and bright green eyes and a chiseled jawline.

Wufei stared.

“Hey, I’m Trowa. Trowa Barton.”

“Hi.”

The man was… unfairly gorgeous, somehow managing to look good even bundled up in what looked like layers of sweaters, a peacoat, scarf and beanie. 

Trowa’s lips twitched.

“I’m here to photograph the show? Rey asked me to be here fifteen minutes before it started.”

“Oh. Oh. Right.” Wufei managed to pull himself together.

Rey, or Relena Darlian, was the founding artistic director of the theatre company producing the play. Despite her youth - or maybe, Wufei suspected, because of it - Relena have proven time and time again that not only was she an excellent producer, but a great director. She also tended to accumulate talented, good-looking friends. 

Or boyfriends.

Wufei looked over Trowa again. Lucky Relena.

“Is she here?” Trowa prompted.

Feeling like an idiot, a feeling Wufei despised more than almost any other, Wufei forced himself to focus.

“She’s running a few minutes late. The MTA is…”

“A fucking nightmare,” Trowa muttered, and nodded. “That’s fine. Can you show me the theatre, and I can start setting up.” Trowa adjusted the two bags cross-strapped on his body, and Wufei looked at them.

It always amused him when professional photographers showed up for photo calls - the good ones came looking like they had prepared to photograph a war zone. Trowa, at least based on appearances, was one of the good ones.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Wufei held open the door to the theatre and gestured Trowa inside.

“Thanks. I didn’t catch your name?”

Trowa was smirking again as he walked into the dark theatre and Wufei followed him.

“Wufei Chang. I’m the lighting designer.”

Trowa set his bags down on a chair near the front of the stage and began stripping out of his many layers of clothing.

Duo had turned on the house lights, giving the audience a warm glow, and Wufei tried very hard not to think about how the lights made Trowa’s face look like it belonged in a Rembrandt painting.

He had always loved Rembrandt.

Trowa removed four sweaters.  _ Four _ . 

As he pulled off the last one, the hem of his shirt got caught and came up as well, revealing Trowa’s defined abs, some kind of wheel tattoo over his heart and the glint of metal piercings through each nipple.

Wufei’s mouth went totally dry, and it was a supreme effort to look away as Trowa jerked his shirt back down and finished removing the sweater.

When Wufei looked away, however, his gaze landed squarely on Meilan, still onstage, looking back at Wufei with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

Wufei felt himself blushing.

Bad enough to get caught staring at Trowa’s body. But to be caught by  _ Meilan, _ of all people, would mean merciless teasing. 

Trowa ran a hand through his hair, tossing the beanie onto the pile of clothes, and turned to look at the set.

“Wow.”

He was smirking again, eyes roving over the dark walls, and Wufei felt himself mirroring the expression.

It always felt good to have an outsider appreciate their work - and Meilan’s scenery deserved all of the wows in the world, in Wufei’s mind.

“Meilan is the scenic designer,” Wufei said, gesturing to her.

Meilan wiped her hands off on her leggings and approached the edge of the stage. She jumped down and walked over to them, holding her hand out to Trowa.

“And projections designer,” she added with a smirk.

“Trowa - photographer.”

The tall man shook her hand, his own completely engulfing hers. The top of Meilan’s head only came up to the base of Trowa’s neck, and even in her oversized sweater, Meilin looked incredibly small beside the other man. 

“It looks gorgeous,” Trowa said after he let go of Meilan’s hand. He looked over his shoulder, smirking at Wufei again. “The lights too.”

It was just a preshow look - a dim blue-gray wash with filtered shadows drifting across the stage in lazy spirals - but it set the mood, introduced the audience to a grim, hopeless world as they walked in and took their seats. Or, at least, it would, starting tomorrow night with the first preview.

Tonight, the only people watching the four-person show would be the designers, director, producer, publicist and, now, the photographer. 

Although Trowa would do less watching and probably more climbing through the audience and snapping photographs.

“Thanks.”

Meilan smirked again, that knowing look that she had perfected years ago. The look that made Wufei want to either pick a fight or get her naked. Or both. Very often both.

“Sorry! Sorry I’m late!” Relena called out as she rushed into the theatre, unwrapping a scarf from around her neck, her heels clacking on the ancient wooden floor.

Trowa turned to look at her, his smirk turning into a genuine smile, and Wufei felt a thread of jealousy. Even though he had assumed they were a couple. 

“Doesn’t matter to me - you’re paying me by the hour regardless of whether or not you’re here.”

Relena rolled her eyes, but she stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek, Trowa leaning down to accommodate her.

That was… interesting.

Not the greeting Wufei would have expected between them.

Certainly not the greeting he had seen her exchange with other men she had dated.

“I see you’ve met two of our brilliant designers,” Relena turned her bright smile to Meilan and Wufei.

“I was wondering…” Trowa trailed off as he fiddled with the lenses of his camera.

“Yes?” 

“Do you mind if I take some candid shots - not just of the play, but of them,” Trowa gestured to Wufei and Meilan, and made a vague gesture towards the booth at the back of the theatre. “My editor keeps whining about not having any stock photos of technicians and designers. If that’s okay with all of you?”

“Your editor?” Meilan asked.

Trowa nodded.

“I do some freelance work for Playbill - reviews and photographs, of course.”

“Are you reviewing our show?” Wufei had to ask, wondering how the hell Trowa would be able to take photographs  _ and _ focus on the show enough to write a decent review.

Trowa smirked.

“Yeah, but not tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow night for the preview.”

Wufei nodded, satisfied and relieved.

Meilan rolled her eyes at him. It was uncanny, how clearly she could follow along with his thought process sometimes.

“I don’t mind if they don’t,” Relena said, looking again at Wufei and Meilan.

Meilan shrugged.

“I don’t care.”

“Neither do I,” Wufei said, though he felt a little anxious at the prospect of having Trowa take photographs of him.

“Great. I’ve got some disclosure papers somewhere in my bag…” He pulled out a stack of slightly crumpled papers and gave Relena a rueful look.

She rolled her eyes, but accepted them and tried to smooth them out.

“I’ll make copies and pass them around,” she said, shaking her head as she failed to unwrinkle one of the corners. 

“Sorry - and thanks.”

“No, it’s fine.” Relena reached over and squeezed Trowa’s shoulder. “And thank  _ you _ for doing this tonight. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and you probably had plans with-”

“No,” Trowa cut her off, his voice a little chilly. “No plans.”

“You and-”

“We broke up last week.” Trowa looked away, snapping a lens into place on his camera.

“Oh, Trowa! I had no idea! What-”

Trowa looked over at Relena, giving her a small, twisted smile.

“He dumped me on my birthday. So, considering that my other options tonight were to stay at home with my cat and get drunk or go out to a bar, get drunk and go home with some stranger, I’d much rather be here, getting paid to do something I enjoy.”

Trowa seemed completely unconcerned that he had an audience to his confession - nor did he seem to care what Meilan and Wufei might think of him or what he said.

Relena’s brows drew together in a sympathetic frown, but when she reached out again, he gently shrugged her off.

“I’m going to get some test shots in before the run starts - thanks for dealing with those forms.”

He walked away, and 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to result in Meilan, Wufei and Trowa going home together but instead of having THE SEX they look at a projector/star maps on the ceiling and fall asleep talking. 
> 
> And THEN have the sex later.


	7. Honeymoon

 

A/N: always thanks to Ro for beta reading

Pairings: 2x3

Warings: language, sex

 

“The next time we get married, we’re doing it simple - hell, we’re doing it in secret. No ceremony with half the people you work with and Quatre’s entire fucking family. No reception that lasts for seven thousand hours. Just me and you. We won’t even need an officiant. I’ll take classes online or something and get my license or whatever I need. But we are  _ not _ going through that circus again. No offense to circuses.”

Duo’s voice echoed off the empty hallway, the rows of identical hotel room doors closed, the emerald carpet stretching out for what seemed like miles in front of them.

Trowa arched an eyebrow at Duo.

“Under what circumstances do you see us needing to do this  _ again _ ?”

Duo shrugged, grinned, and bumped his shoulder against Trowa’s.

“Dunno. But if you play your cards right…” he trailed off, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“If I play my cards right, I get to marry you again, or if I play my cards right, I  _ don’t _ have to marry you again?”

Duo sighed.

“Babe, I honestly don’t even know. All I know, at this moment in time, is that I am  _ dying _ to get out of this tux.”

Trowa checked the number on the room key again.

_ 799 _ .

He looked back at the room they had just walked past.

_ 713 _ .

Trowa wondered if their room even  _ existed _ . It felt like  _ days _ since he had last slept - and actually, it  _ had _ been days. Between Heero’s last-minute realization that, as best man, it was his responsibility to throw Trowa a bachelor party, and his insistence that they  _ fly across the country to Vegas in the middle of the night _ for twenty-four hours of debauchery before getting back to Boston just in time for the rehearsal dinner, followed by Quatre’s insistence that Duo and Trowa spend their wedding night apart and the resulting night of drinking and reminiscing with Quatre, and then showing up at  _ dawn _ at the church that Cathy had started attending last year, had begged in that way she had of not really begging so much as demanding that Trowa and Duo get married there, even though Duo was a belligerent atheist and Trowa an apathetic agnostic. And then the ceremony, which had felt too long and too short at the same time, followed by the reception - which had  _ not _ been seven thousand hours long but, by Trowa’s estimation, had still been at least two hours too long.

_ 785. _

_ 787. _

“Do you even know where we’re going at this point?” Duo asked, his whining earning a glare from Trowa.

“It’s a straight hall. There’s only one way to go,” Trowa pointed out.

Duo sighed again, and readjusted his bag over his shoulder.

It had been Quatre’s idea, a honeymoon.

Duo and Trowa were both busy, reluctant to take time off of work considering the literal shitstorm the world seemed to be descending into, but Quatre had insisted, in that way he had of making it seem like he was only looking out for them, and really he was a genius and kind and generous, and they would be the dumbest assholes in the world to go against his suggestion.

Duo, who had been on the edge of backing out of getting married almost as soon as he had finished proposing to Trowa on election night, as cold reality set in and they realized that there would not be a Madame President, had been overwhelmed by the wedding planning, and Trowa had stepped in as soon as Cathy started volunteering to  _ help _ . Duo had gratefully promised that whatever Trowa wanted was fine, was wonderful, was perfect. 

The honeymoon had been the same, the idea sprung on them like a trap only a few weeks ago, as Duo was in the midst of job hunting after unceremoniously - or rather, painfully ceremoniously - leaving his job as a prosecutor with the Justice Department. Trowa hadn’t even waited for Duo to glumly volunteer to take care of it - he had instead insisted that he be the one to plan it, and Duo had guilty sighed in relief and put it out of his mind entirely.

Unfortunately, Trowa had done the same. 

There had just been too much else to think about - all of the other absurd plans for the wedding, plus his  _ own _ job as an associate with Sidney Austin. Duo had been forced to quit his job because he couldn’t stomach the idea of working for an administration that was the literal antithesis of his morals. And Trowa, who had gone into environmental law and landed himself a position at one of the best environmental law firms in the country, routinely found himself buried in an avalanche of disaster with no end in sight. 

It hadn’t been until last week, when Quatre had gone with him to pick up his tux and asked where they were going for their honeymoon that Trowa had remembered they were going on one at all.

In a panic, he had booked a flight and hotel room for a four-day weekend in Key West. He had never been. Duo had never been. He didn’t even know if they would  _ enjoy _ it, but the airfare had been cheap and it would be  _ warm _ , which was a hell of a lot more than Trowa could say about New York City.

So, after the never-ending reception finally ended, they had to rush off to the airport, having no time to even change out of their tuxes before boarding, and by midnight they were blearily staggering down the  _ longest hall in the universe _ , hopefully towards their hotel room.

_ 799. _

At last.

Duo leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to the almost but maybe not quite tacky wallpaper, while Trowa struggled to unlock the door.

“You’re usually better with your hands than this,” Duo mumbled, his eyes still closed, as Trowa tried for a fifth time to insert the room key into the reader.

“I’ve usually had sleep at some point in recent history,” Trowa growled. 

“Mm. Sleep. I’ve heard of that.”

Trowa had to smirk at Duo’s voice, at the wistful tone and the gravelly, exhausted pitch.

Finally, the door chimed, and Trowa was able to push it open.

The room they walked into felt like a sauna, and the sound of the heating unit working at full power was almost deafening.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Duo dropped his bag by the door and strode across the room, his earlier lethargy gone, and proceeded to wrangle with the thermostat.

Trowa let him handle it, and instead picked up Duo’s bag as well as his own and set them down beside the dresser before taking a good look at the room.

It was spacious, with a small breakfast area near the windows, but the room was dominated by the king sized bed that looked as full and soft as a damn cloud. Trowa wanted nothing in the world more than to sink down onto that mattress and close his eyes.

“There. We shouldn’t burn to a crisp now,” Duo muttered, as the sound of the heating unit whined down to a soft purr and then stopped altogether.

“That reminds me, we need to get sunscreen for you tomorrow,” Trowa said, as he toed off his shoes and started to loosen his bowtie.

“I don’t need sunscreen,” Duo argued, balancing on one foot to pull off his shoes one at a time.

Trowa arched an eyebrow at the inelegant display and the words.

“It’s going to take all of five minutes in the sun before you turn into a lobster,” Trowa pointed out. “And I did  _ not _ marry a lobster.”

Duo looked mutinous, but as soon as Trowa said the word ‘marry’, his expression softened.

“Yeah? What did you marry?”

There was a glimmer in Duo’s eyes, the familiar flash of mischief that Trowa had grown to love.

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you remind me.”

Duo grinned and, shoes removed, straightened up to his full height. He walked towards Trowa, backing him up until Trowa felt the mattress against his thighs. He took the hint and sat down.

“It’s funny you say you didn’t marry a lobster,” Duo said as he tugged at his own tie, having opted for a modern, thin black tie over Trowa’s more traditional route, until it came loose.

Trowa watched his nimble fingers, mesmerized as he always was by their movements.

Duo started to unbutton his shirt, leaving his jacket and vest on, both already open. He didn’t bother to untuck the tails of his shirt, and Trowa arched an eyebrow at the display.

“Because I seem to recall you appreciating turning my skin red,” Duo said, his voice barely above a whisper as he pulled open his shirt, revealing the mottled pink, red and purple marks on his chest, days old now and still bright and distinct.

Trowa reached out, tracing over the marks he had left on Duo’s pale skin, remembering the feel of Duo’s flesh in his mouth, his fingers digging into Trowa’s scalp and his breathy voice begging for more.

“That is true,” he agreed, and spread Duo’s shirt open wide enough so that he could pinch one of Duo’s flat, brown nipples.

Duo hissed at the shock of sensation and rocked towards Trowa.

Trowa gave a slight twist, and Duo groaned and leaned forward, dipping his head down to reach Trowa’s lips, but Trowa moved backwards, pulling away just enough.

Duo’s eyes narrowed.

“Trowa,” he growled.

“ _ Duo _ .”

He knew the tone, knew what was coming, and Trowa had to smirk as Duo drew in a shaky breath, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in anticipation.

“I appreciated your vows,” Trowa said, releasing Duo’s nipple and smoothing his hand up Duo’s chest, around his neck, and found Duo’s long braid of hair. He pulled it forward, finding the tie that bound it together, and started to slowly work the plait free.

“Yeah?” 

“Mm.” Trowa had been shocked, had actually forgotten his own vows and had to stutter through them for a moment before he remembered what he had planned.

“Say it again,” he suggested, spreading Duo’s hair out across his back and dragging his fingers over Duo’s scalp, massaging and tugging just hard enough to have Duo closing his eyes and arching his neck back.

“The whole thing?”

“Yes.”

Duo’s lips quirked and he opened his eyes, the mischief back.

“Like this?”

Trowa was a little confused by the question.

“Or…” Duo stepped back and knelt down on the floor. With his hair loose and his clothes open to reveal his bruised skin, he looked every inch Trowa’s fantasy. “Like this?”

“Like that,” Trowa agreed, standing himself.

Duo grinned, but then he sobered up.

“I, Duo Maxwell, take you to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forth. I promise to love you, to cherish you, to support you and stand beside you no matter what we face, to obey you, to never forget how lucky I am to have you. I promise to be here for you, through this life and whatever comes next.”

Every word had meant the  _ world _ to Trowa, when Duo had said them in the church. He had felt his throat and heart constrict beyond the point of pain, had wondered how he was able to breathe or function at all as Duo looked at him with such open worship as he said the words, as he slipped the white gold wedding band with its thin row of sapphires onto Trowa’s shaking hand. 

_ “Recycled metal _ ,  _ lab grown gemstones _ ,” Duo had whispered to him with a wink when the ring was on. 

Now, hours later and still wondering if the whole thing had been a dream, Trowa put his left hand against Duo’s cheek, admiring the glint of the ring on his hand as he caressed Duo’s warm, soft skin.

_ Obey _ .

Trowa still couldn’t believe he had said it.

He was sure that everyone at the ceremony had assumed it was sarcastic, had figured it was Duo being Duo - had probably thought it was impossible that stubborn, headstrong Duo Maxwell would ever commit, publicly or privately, to  _ obey _ anyone.

But it hadn’t been a joke, hadn’t been even a little sarcastic.

And now, kneeling in front of Trowa, looking up at him with drowning eyes, Trowa felt equal parts burdened and freed by that commitment.

It wasn’t that Duo  _ didn’t _ obey him - he did, now. It had taken a while, had taken months before Duo was even willing to entertain the idea of more than a heat-of-the-moment slap on the ass as erotic. It had taken a year before Duo started to  _ ask _ Trowa to tie him up or bend him over his knee. After six years, Duo was finally comfortable, finally  _ eager _ to be dominated. 

But Trowa still hadn’t expected him to be so  _ public _ about it. 

Duo turned his head, catching Trowa’s thumb between his lips and giving it a gentle nip. 

Trowa smirked, and eased the digit further into the wet cavern, until Duo started to suck on it.

“You didn’t need to say it.”

Trowa had let Duo ease into things, had made sure that Duo was never more than a few steps into the deep end of things, and it had taken a while for Duo to wrap his head around the idea of Trowa, shy and quiet in public, as someone who wanted to  _ own _ him, to make him beg for release. 

Duo released his thumb, trailing his tongue over it in a lingering caress.

“I wanted to.  _ I _ needed to.”

Trowa arched an eyebrow.

“You needed everyone in that church to know you planned on getting on your knees, obeying my every command, begging me to fuck you for the rest of our lives?”

Duo gave him a broad, lopsided grin. The same grin that had left Trowa speechless the first time he saw it, almost eight years ago.

“I mean, I didn’t say  _ all _ of that.”

“But you meant it.” He tried to make it sound like a statement, but even Trowa heard the question in his own voice.

“Oh, hell yes, I meant  _ all _ of that.”

Duo turned his head a little and nuzzled against Trowa’s thigh. They had both been surprised by how much Duo  _ enjoyed _ being submissive. Trowa had hoped he would - but even he hadn’t thought their relationship would have evolved to the point where it is today.

  
  
  



	8. Keynote

A/N: I wrote a 6x2 drabble forever ago, with Duo as a grad student and Zechs as his mentor and I always wanted to follow up on it… I even had this entire longfic planned out where it became a 6x3x2 but, like most things, I never got around to it. So here’s another one shot, set a few years after that first one, but you don’t have to have read it to follow along (it’s chapter 6 in Drabbles if you wanted to give a read, however).

 

A/N: As always, thank you Ro, for everything, but in particular for beta reading.

 

Warnings: language, sex, angst (lol I left it off at first but then I reread the first 4K and realized I was fooling myself)

Pairings: 6x3x2

 

_ Keynote _

  
  


Duo sat at the hotel bar, finishing off his second glass of whiskey, and congratulating himself on not fucking up at his first post-doctoral conference presentation.

Only a year after graduating from MIT, Duo still felt like he was faking it most of the time, a feeling that was only made even more intense when he considered the fact that all of his  _ peers _ were at least five to fifty years older than he was. It didn’t help that his post-doc fellowship at Princeton had ended up being an exercise in ‘how to explain to all of the old geezers that nanotech wasn’t black magic.’ It wasn’t  _ that _ bad, some days… but some days, it was worse.

Duo liked Princeton, liked the sizeable research funding and the support the university offered, but he wasn’t too thrilled about the lack of interaction with faculty who actually  _ knew _ what the fuck he was talking about most of the time.

The trouble with being an  _ enfant terrible _ was both the  _ enfant _ and the  _ terrible _ \- he was too young and way, way too smart.

It was a little surreal to have just given a fifty-minute lecture on the applications of nanoparticle flow dynamics and  _ not _ made a fool of himself  _ or _ thrown up from nerves.

It was surreal, and it was worth celebrating.

The only trouble was, of course, that he had no one to celebrate  _ with _ .

A few of the Princeton professors had sat in on his lecture. One had even followed it enough to ask a sort of redundant but still appreciated question during the Q&A afterwards, but none of them were close to Duo. The three grad students who had been invited to attend the conference weren’t into nanotech, and besides, were two to three years older than Duo and resented the fact that, at twenty-five, Duo had accomplished more than they were likely to in the next ten years.

So, Duo sat at the bar alone, consoling and congratulating himself with the whiskey, and tried not to care about the fact that he was alone. 

Or about the fact that there were two people he  _ wanted _ to be spending tonight with. Two people who, according to the conference program, were definitely in attendance, and were definitely each sitting on panels tomorrow afternoon. Two people that Duo hadn’t seen since the day he packed up the last of his stuff and moved from Boston to Princeton. 

Two people that Duo really, really wished had been at his lecture, and not just because they would have known what he was talking about - for the most part - but because, like the stupid fucking kid he knew he still was, he wanted them to know he had done it, wanted them to be  _ proud  _ of him.

But they hadn’t been there; or, well, they  _ could _ have been there. The lighting hadn’t been great, and Duo had had to fight against it reflecting off of his glasses and his tablet, so maybe they had been there, sitting in the back or something. But they hadn’t asked any questions at the Q&A, hadn’t stayed after to meet him, hadn’t-

Duo forced himself to stop thinking about it, to stop thinking about  _ them _ . 

If Trowa Barton or Zechs Merquise gave a damn, they would have been there. And, well, they weren’t.

Duo signalled the bartender for another whiskey. He was scheduled to sit in on a panel tomorrow morning at eleven, which meant he had plenty of time to get wasted and work off a mild to middling hangover. 

“I told you we’d find him at the bar.”

Duo could sense someone standing behind him, just to his left, and at the words, he turned, a little clumsily, and almost fell out of his seat.

Strong, familiar arms reached out to steady him, and Duo looked up into a familiar, smirking face.

“Tro- Trowa?” Duo looked past him, to the taller man beside him. “Professor.”

Another smirk, this one cooler and drier than Trowa’s.

“Duo.”

He couldn’t stop looking at them, at the two men who had made his three years at MIT the best of his life, at the two men he had fallen in love with, at the two men he had walked away from.

Trowa looked good, tan and relaxed, and it was clear Silicon Valley agreed with him. And Zechs… He looked the same, as effortlessly confident and powerful and brilliant and  _ sexy _ as ever.

Duo managed to settle back into his chair, and Trowa let him go, hands trailing down Duo’s arms in a lingering caress that had Duo shivering and wishing for more.

Trowa sat down to his right, Zechs to his left, and Duo, stuck in the middle, felt overwhelmed.

“What… what are you doing here?”

Zechs quirked an eyebrow at the idiotic question.

“Here at the bar, or here at the conference? I’m sure you’ve read the program - I’m on a panel tomorrow, and so is Zechs.” Trowa was smirking again, his voice tinged with amusement.

Zechs signalled the bartender.

“Two more of what he’s drinking,” Zechs gestured towards Duo’s whiskey.

It had been Zechs, after all, who introduced Duo to whiskey in the first place.

“No, here, at the bar,” Duo growled.

“Looking for you - and for a drink.”

Trowa accepted his rocks glass from the bartender, and offered Duo a mock toast before taking a sip.

Zechs sipped his own, lips quirking as he judged the vintage, and then he nodded in acceptance.

Duo didn’t know what to say, sure as hell didn’t even know what to  _ think _ . 

So he sat between them and took another sip of his whiskey, choking on it when Zechs reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind Duo’s ear.

“When did you stop wearing contacts?” 

It felt a little - felt a  _ lot _ \- like they were ganging up on him. Like Trowa and Zechs had some plan or something, and Duo was just… the pawn in all of it.

Duo swallowed the whiskey and set the glass down before reaching up to defensively adjust his glasses.

“I’ve always had glasses.”

“I remember. But you hated them.”

Duo shrugged, uneasy with their combined attention.

Attention that he had, a year ago, craved. It had been glorious, to be between these two, to have their intense focus on  _ him _ . 

Now… now Duo felt clumsy and slow and so very, very out of practice.

“I kept forgetting to take out my contacts before going to sleep, so I just gave up,” he admitted, risking a glance over at Trowa.

Trowa frowned slightly.

It had been Trowa, more often than not, who woke Duo up when he fell asleep over a book or in front of his computer and told him to take his contacts out and get his ass into bed.

“They suit you,” Zechs said, smirking again.

Duo shivered at the words, at the possessive tone. He looked into Zechs’s eyes, momentarily losing himself in the heat of his blue gaze.

“You’ve come a long way in your research,” Trowa broke the spell. “Your presentation this afternoon was impressive.”

“You- you were there?” Duo hated how desperate he sounded.

Trowa nodded. “I had to rearrange my flight to make sure I got in on time for it. I’m sorry I didn’t stay after - I had to meet up with some colleagues for dinner.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.” It was more than fine. It was, actually, a little frightening just how good it felt to know Trowa had been there.

“I was proud of you,” Zechs added. 

Zechs, who was always short on praise, who handed out cruel barbs like treats, was  _ proud _ of him.

He’d said it before, of course, but usually it had nothing to do with work, with Duo’s research.

Duo swallowed hard, fighting against the flush those words brought, the high that coursed through his body. He took another sip of whiskey, feeling giddy and overwhelmed.

“Are you staying here?” Trowa asked.

Duo nodded.

“Yeah, the school’s paying for everything, so…” There was no way that  _ Duo _ could have afforded even one night, let alone three, at the Morris Inn. Three nights here was more than he paid for a month’s rent.

“So are we,” Trowa said, finishing off his whiskey but waving away the bartender when he moved to refill it.

“Together?” Duo asked, looking between them with a frown. 

Trowa shrugged one shoulder, looking past Duo and at Zechs.

“That depends. I have my own room and Zechs has his.”

“Depends on what?”

“On you,” Zechs said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He finished off his drink as well and pulled out his wallet, laying down enough cash to more than cover Duo’s three drinks, plus their two, and leave a decent tip. 

“On me,” Duo repeatedly stupidly.

Trowa leaned against the bar counter and smirked down at him.

Zechs made a tsking sound as he stood up.

“David, how much have you had to drink?”

_ David _ . Zechs knew how much Duo hated to be called that.

Duo glared up at him, but Zechs just leaned down, his lips brushing against Duo’s ear.

“What was it you said that first day in my office?” Zechs whispered.

Duo felt heat rush to his cheeks.

How many times had Zechs reminded him of that? How many times had Zechs forced him to say it again?

He pulled away enough to look up into Zechs’s eyes, to see his satisfied smirk.

Duo bit his lip and looked between Zechs and Trowa, both expectant. 

Hadn’t he been dreaming of something like this since he had left them behind? Hadn’t Duo wished for this ever since the conference program was published and he realized they would be there as well? Isn’t this what he had wanted?

He looked at Trowa again, his ex-boyfriend, the man who had practically begged Duo to take a fellowship at Stanford just so they could be on the same coast. 

And then there was Zechs, Duo’s… what exactly had he been? Mentor, lover, friend, enemy. Undoubtedly the driving force in pushing Duo to excel. 

He had missed them both, had thought about calling or emailing them so many times over the last year. But he hadn’t, and they hadn’t reached out to him either.

Which, really, was his own fault. He had been the one to tell Trowa that long distance relationships didn’t work, had been the one to tell Zechs that he hoped his next assistant was as useful as Duo had been.

Duo had been cruel, had been full of false bravado as he assured them that it was better this way, a clean break, each of them going into the future alone.

It was, after all, better than the alternative of longing for what he couldn’t have. Trowa was too good for him, and Zechs… Zechs was like the fucking sun, burning so hot and bright, he  _ consumed _ Duo unless Trowa was there to anchor him.

“Well?” Zechs prompted.

Duo swallowed hard.

He should keep his mouth shut, or tell them he would try to go to their panels tomorrow. He should walk away. He should-

“I’m your slave,” he breathed, voice shaky and barely audible.

Zechs’s lips curved upwards, and he straightened up to his full height.

“Hm. While your presentation this afternoon was exceptional, I feel that you might need to work a bit harder to demonstrate  _ that _ principle to me.” Zechs’s eyes flickered over to Trowa. “To us.”

Duo looked away from Zechs and back at Trowa, whose green gaze was practically smoldering.

Trowa didn’t get off on dominating Duo like Zechs did, but he liked to watch, and sure as hell liked to be on the receiving end of Zechs ordering Duo’s actions.

“I have an executive suite,” Trowa offered, straightening up and smirking at Zechs. “Perhaps we should use my room for this… demonstration?”

Zechs looked on the verge of arguing, no doubt wanting to do this on  _ his _ territory, but he shrugged. 

“One executive suite is the same as another,” he said carelessly, letting Trowa take the win but making it clear that he was  _ allowing _ it.

Duo wanted to roll his eyes. Some things, at least, never changed.

It wasn’t that Trowa needed to control everything the way that Zechs did, but he had spent most of his life being overlooked and overshadowed, and Zechs… Zechs had a long shadow. 

Duo rose to his feet, feeling the effects of three glasses of whiskey working through his body, and couldn’t help but smirk as both Zechs and Trowa looked him over hungrily.

Maybe he would get to celebrate tonight after all.

 

-o-

 

The elevator ride left Duo nervous and jittery, and by the time Trowa ushered them into his huge and immaculate executive suite, Duo was thinking he either should have stopped at two drinks or had a fourth. Three was too many to be entirely sober, but not nearly drunk enough to keep him from fixating on all of the ways this could go so very, very wrong.

Trowa closed the door behind them, and led the way past the  _ bathrooms _ and into a sitting area that sectioned off the bedroom, clearly visible through an open doorway.

Duo’s standard room had seemed immense and luxurious, with two tall and fluffy queen sized beds, but Trowa’s suite, which had to be bigger than Duo’s  _ apartment _ and had a king sized bed, put Duo’s hotel room to shame.

Trowa removed his jacket, draping it carelessly over the desk against one wall, and gestured towards the couch and two armchairs.

“Anything to drink?” Trowa opened up the mini-fridge, revealing a fully-stocked bar.

“No, thank you,” Zechs sat down on one end of the couch, crossing his legs and throwing one arm over the back. He looked completely at ease, his lips curving slightly in his usual look of eternal amusement and faint contempt for the world around him.

Trowa looked over at Duo, who remained standing, and he shook his head. As much as he might want that fourth drink, the more he thought about it, the better it seemed if he maintained  _ some _ kind of control over his impulses. A fourth drink would not help with that, at all.

Trowa, however, pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured it into a coffee mug and took a sip before sitting down in the armchair furthest from Zechs.

Leaving Duo hovering between them, the upholstered leather coffee-table/footrest thing separating the couch and chairs from each other and from Duo.

Trowa sipped on his coffee mug of vodka, sitting straight-backed in his chair and looking as tense as Duo felt.

“ _ David _ .” It was the voice Zechs used on incompetent freshmen, the tone that expressed his disdain and loathing and complete  _ boredom _ .

Duo swallowed hard and met his cold gaze.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten  _ everything _ I took the time to teach you?”

Duo had always been afraid of letting Zechs down, in the lab and in bed, a fear that Zechs had surely picked up on almost immediately, had certainly used to manipulate Duo, to push him and torture him.

It had been a year since they were all together last, and while Duo didn’t think he had forgotten a single damn thing, he wasn’t sure if he was just supposed to pick things up where they had left them? If he was supposed to ignore the fact that Trowa had walked out on him in the middle of an argument because he didn’t want Duo to see him cry, if he was supposed to just pretend that Zechs had never sneered and assured Duo that he was easily replaceable before telling him to get the hell out of his office.

Duo looked over at Trowa, steadily downing his drink, and knew that  _ he, _ at least, was still thinking about the last time he and Duo had been together.

But there was too much to say, too much to repair, and it felt overwhelming.

So Duo took the easy route, surrendering to Zechs’s unspoken command, and sank to his knees.

Zechs smirked and lazily extended his right hand.

Duo crawled over, placing his cheek against it, and Zechs chuckled before smoothing his hand across Duo’s face and into his hair.

“Tell me,” Zechs crooned, his fingers tightening in Duo’s hair and tugging until Duo had to tilt his head up to ease the pressure. “Tell me what you deserve, David.”

Duo tried to swallow, tried to work some moisture into his dry mouth, and he licked his lips and panted out a desperate breath. 

He’d forgotten just  _ how _ intense Zechs’s gaze was, how strong his grip, how insistent he was in control. Fantasy and memory had smoothed the edges, had softened everything, but now reality was brought back into painfully sharp focus.

Duo could feel his blood moving through his body, heavy and sluggish, but his pulse was racing just from Zechs’s touch and his words.

“I deserve-” Duo had to stop and clear his throat, and he flushed when Zechs’s eyes narrowed. “I deserve to be fucked over and over again until I can barely walk or breathe, until I’m dripping with semen.”

Zechs smirked, clearly pleased to hear the words, to hear the hitch in Duo’s voice as he spoke them.

As hyperbolic as they sounded, Zechs had always done his level best to leave Duo in  _ exactly _ that state each time he fucked him. When Trowa had joined them, Duo really  _ had _ been left barely able to walk or breathe, really had been left dripping with semen.

Duo felt his groin stir at the memories, and he shifted forward, closer to Zechs.

The blond man chuckled and obligingly uncrossed his legs, shifting so that there was a v of space between them, and Duo moved to fill the space.

He could see the outline of Zechs’s cock, already hard, confined against the inseam of his trousers.

It had amazed Duo, how quickly Zechs became aroused at just the  _ thought _ of dominating Duo. Zechs had to be at least thirty-five, and while he usually needed half an hour to recover between rounds of fucking Duo, he was always ready to go again, to pound into Duo until  _ Duo _ had to beg for a reprieve. 

Duo inched forward, until his face was in Zechs’s crotch and his lips against his clothed cock.

“Mm,” Zechs hummed in appreciation, fingers pulling at Duo’s hair sharply, making him hiss in pain and curl closer to Zechs. “I see you haven’t forgotten everything after all.” 

Duo tongued the hard flesh through the woolen fabric, feeling the head and hardness of it and squirming as he thought about Zechs’s cock fucking him, spearing through his body while Duo cried out for more.

He fumbled for the zipper and managed to unfasten it, reaching inside the trousers and pushing aside the fabric of Zechs’s briefs so that he could pull his cock free.

It filled Duo’s hand, thick and red and just as perfect as Duo remembered it being.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “I’ve missed your cock.”

Zechs chuckled, amused and satisfied, but when Duo opened his mouth, intent on tasting Zechs, the older man angled his head away, upwards, and he caught Duo’s open mouth with his own in a fierce kiss.

Zechs was always cruel and forceful, and this kiss was no exception. He sucked Duo’s lower lip into his own mouth, teeth catching it even as his tongue seared Duo’s mouth, thrusting inside greedily, leaving Duo breathlessly clutching Zechs’s thighs while the other man had his way.

When Zechs finally released him, Duo sat back on his heels and sucked in a deep breath. Zechs’s eyes were glazed, his lips swollen, but he looked otherwise as at ease and in command as he always did.

“As much as you might want to be filled by this,” Zechs said, giving his own cock a lazy tug, eliciting a bead of precum, “I believe you should give our host some attention. Show your gratitude for his hospitality.”

Zechs nodded towards Trowa, and Duo turned, guilty at having been so completely focused on Zechs.

The mug of vodka had been finished or abandoned, sitting on a side table while Trowa still sat rigid in his chair, hands on his thighs, lips parted and cheeks flushed.

He looked drunk, or aroused - probably a mixture of both, Duo was sure - and decidedly unsure of what to do about it.

Zechs nudged Duo in his direction.

“Ask him what he wants from you, David. Show him what an eager slut you are.”

Duo shivered. 

He’d been called a slut before Zechs, the insult thrown at him by the first guy Duo had ever kissed - a guy who turned out to be very, very straight - and by the RA Duo had slept with his freshman year of college one night and who had called Duo a slut when he tried to make the one-night stand more than that. 

When Zechs said it, Duo still felt the sting of those other times, still felt the derision and shame, but he also felt the warmth of possession. He was Zechs’s slut, was his  _ slave, _ as Duo had so foolishly volunteered. And maybe it was dirty and damaged and pathetic, but hearing Zechs call him a slut again was far more rewarding than having the faculty at Princeton attend his afternoon presentation.

Duo crawled over to Trowa, knowing Zechs was watching, but focused entirely on the way that Trowa’s warm gaze followed him, on the steady rise and fall of his chest, on the shallow rasp of his breath.

Duo knelt in front of him, looking up into Trowa’s face, at his chiseled features, at his green eyes that could turn from empty to overflowing with surprising speed.

“What do you want from me, Trowa?” Duo asked.

Trowa stared at him. Duo should have asked that question a  _ long _ time ago, but he had been afraid to hear Trowa’s answer. He was a little afraid  _ now _ .

Trowa’s fingers tightened on his own thighs, digging into his skin, and it was clear he was struggling with this as much as Duo was.

“Trowa,” Zechs chided. “Surely there’s  _ something _ you want from this greedy slut? I’m sure my cock isn’t the  _ only _ one he has missed.”

Despite Zechs’s obvious cues, Trowa still hesitated.

“Kiss me,” he finally said, sounding so unsure of himself that Duo felt a stab of pain. 

Trowa didn’t lean down, or pull Duo up; he just remained sitting rigidly in the chair, so Duo rose to his feet and leaned over him, closing the space between them slowly.

He brushed his lips against Trowa’s, tentative and apologetic.

Trowa shuddered under him, turning his face and catching Duo’s mouth as he moved away.

Kissing Trowa was so different than kissing Zechs, always had been. Zechs was fire, a conflagration devouring everything in its path, while Trowa took his time, gentle and slow, intent on discovery. 

Duo opened his mouth, teasing his tongue over Trowa’s lips until the other man shuddered again and let him in. 

Duo could taste the vodka, strong and astringent, but before he could get too carried away with cataloguing the nuance it brought to Trowa’s mouth, Trowa was pulling Duo closer.

He crawled into the chair with him, straddling his lap and wrapping his hands around Trowa’s head. Trowa’s large, steady hands smoothed over Duo’s back, keeping him balanced as Duo lost himself.

This was the kiss he had been dreaming of - forgiveness and passion wrapped together, as filled with pain as it was with lust.

Trowa’s tongue twined with his, familiar and still so tantalizing, and Duo felt himself consumed by Trowa just as surely as he had been by Zechs.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Duo had to say when Trowa eased back.

Trowa offered him a wan smile and traced over Duo’s swollen lips with his thumb.

“So am I.”

Duo drew in a shaky breath. 

Trowa was still looking at him intently, his eyes shadowed, and Duo wasn’t sure what to do - wasn’t sure if Trowa wanted to talk or fuck, wasn’t sure what would help.

“I’ve missed you,” Trowa said, trailing his thumb from Duo’s lips down his chin, and over the sensitive skin of his neck.

Duo shivered and arched closer.

“I’ve missed you too, Tro. So fucking much.”

Trowa smirked a little at the old nickname. 

He looked more relaxed, tension eased from his shoulders, and he adjusted in the chair, holding Duo’s hips in place as he moved and made himself more comfortable.

“Did you miss my cock as much as you missed Zechs’s?”

Duo chuckled.

“Hell yeah, I did.”

“Show me,” Trowa suggested, and Duo scrambled off of his lap, and he heard Zechs chuckle behind him.

Duo ignored him for now - if Zechs wanted Duo’s attention, he would make it very clear - and instead focused on Trowa. 

Trowa, who didn’t get rock hard at the mere thought of calling Duo a slut and getting him on his knees, but who needed a bit of coaxing.

Coaxing that Duo was more than happy to provide.

He ran his hands over Trowa’s thighs, nails scratching against the form-fitting khakis. He drew a path down to Trowa’s knees and back up again, smoothing his hands over Trowa’s inner thighs and smirking when Trowa drew in a breath and let his legs fall open in invitation.

“Mind if I take these off?” Duo asked, flicking his thumb against the fly of Trowa’s trousers.

“Please.”

Trowa lifted his hips obligingly as Duo unfastened the zip and tugged the trousers down, easing them over his thighs and knees. He paused to pull off Trowa’s shoes before tossing them and the trousers to the side.

Trowa was wearing the sheer blue boxer briefs that Duo had bought him for his birthday last spring. 

Duo looked up at him, arching an eyebrow in question.

“A guy can hope, can’t he?” Trowa offered.

Duo nodded in agreement, and ran his fingers over the smooth nylon briefs.

“Thank god you did.”

Trowa had only worn them for Duo once, trying them on for Duo after he opened them, and he hadn’t been in them for very long at all before Duo was pulling them back off. 

They felt good, smooth and slick, and they  _ looked _ good, practically painted onto Trowa’s skin, emphasizing the strength of his thighs, the trimness of his waist, and the heaviness of his balls and his cock as they filled out the front.

“Stand up,” Zechs called out.

Duo turned, but Zechs wasn’t talking to him.

Trowa hesitated a moment, but then followed the order, standing up and shifting his chair backwards so that he wasn’t stepping on top of Duo.

“Take off your sweater,” Zechs instructed.

Trowa pulled it off, taking his undershirt with it, and carelessly tossed it onto the clothes that Duo had already liberated from his body. 

He arched an eyebrow at Zechs.

“Turn.”

Duo looked up to see Trowa roll his eyes, but he complied, turning slowly and showing off just how well the briefs fit him, showing off his sculpted ass just as well as his front.

“Mm. Very nice.”

Trowa looked pleased with the praise, even if he was a little irritated at having to put on a show for Zechs.

There had always been an attraction between them, but Trowa and Zechs didn’t fit together as easily as Duo and Trowa or Duo and Zechs did. Duo knew they had slept together, had fucked without him frequently, but they never seemed completely at ease together, never seemed to know exactly where they stood.

“Don’t you think so, David?”

Zechs was the only person who called him David, had been the only one to call him David ever since the death of his parents eleven years ago, and it grated every time.

“Yeah,” he had to agree, choosing to ignore the use of his name. Zechs would call him David regardless of Duo’s preferences.

“Then show him your appreciation.  _ Demonstrate _ .”

Duo would have happily done so without Zechs’s order, but even so, he couldn’t deny the excitement and arousal he felt at being told what to do.

He scooted closer to Trowa, reaching up and tracing his fingers over the hem of the briefs just below Trowa’s ass, easing his fingers under and teasing against Trowa’s smooth skin.

Trowa shivered and shifted closer, the bulge of his half-hard cock drawing Duo’s attention.

Duo leaned forward and dragged the flat of his tongue over the bulge, breathing deeply, drowning himself in the sensation of the nylon, of Trowa’s warmth and hard flesh, of the faint smell of his clean, crisp cologne and the primal smell of his groin, all so familiar and missed.

Trowa sucked in a breath, and one of his hands moved to Duo’s face, pushing his bangs aside and tugging slightly; not as forcefully as Zechs would have, but hard enough to still make Duo hum in pleasure.

“He’s always had a talented mouth, hasn’t he?” Zechs asked as Trowa rocked forward, pressing against Duo’s open mouth, and Duo obligingly tried to apply suction to Trowa’s hardening cock.

“Yeah,” Trowa gave a weak chuckle as Duo shifted his hands, pushing under the briefs and squeezing Trowa’s ass firmly.

Duo crouched lower, moving his mouth along the underside of Trowa’s cock and down to his balls, nuzzling the softer skin and then gently nipping at it, remembering that Trowa liked that, liked the slightest bit of pain mixed with his pleasure.

Trowa hissed, and his grip on Duo’s hair tightened. He guided Duo’s head higher, back to his cock.

Duo smirked, but took the none-too-subtle hint and refocused his attention, dragging his teeth over the trapped flesh and then sucking on it.

Trowa groaned and rocked forward, clearly wanting more.

“I think we can move on from appreciating my briefs to appreciating something else,” Trowa panted, and both Duo and Zechs chuckled.

Duo sat back on his heels and moved his hands over Trowa’s hips and groin, still inside the thin nylon of the briefs. He wrapped one hand around Trowa’s cock in a loose fist, and Trowa closed his eyes and sighed.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That feels good.”

He was definitely drunk, or at least well on his way there, considering how vocal he was being. There was no way one glass of whiskey and two shots worth of vodka had him this talkative. He had to have had something else to drink before coming to the bar.

Duo considered that, considered just how nervous Trowa must have been, might still be, about this whole thing.

And, frankly, he had every right to be, considering just how royally Duo had gone about fucking everything up.

He felt stupid and guilty all over again, but before he could get sucked into a familiar spiral of self-loathing, Zechs drew his attention.

“Perhaps it’s time to finally remove those briefs,” he suggested.

Duo turned to look at him and saw that Zechs still had one arm across the back of the couch, bent at the elbow so that he could lean his head against his hand.

His other hand was stroking his cock, long, hard tugs that Duo knew wouldn’t get Zechs off but would keep him close, on edge and aroused. His eyes were hooded and his gaze dark as he looked at them.

Duo couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight. He’d always found Zechs sexy, no matter the situation, but like  _ this, _ trying to keep his own lust in check and maintain control over everything… that was Zechs as his sexiest. 

Duo looked up at Trowa and saw that he was focused on Zechs as well, his lips curved upwards in a slight smirk.

Easing the briefs down, Duo freed Trowa’s cock, smirking himself when the thick, heavy length fell downwards and then gave a slight bounce as it jutted out from his thighs.

Trowa stepped out of the briefs when they pooled around his ankles, and guided Duo’s head back to his now-naked groin.

“Don’t be  _ too _ greedy with him,” Zechs chided.

Trowa arched an eyebrow.

“Did you want a turn?” 

“There’s no reason we can’t enjoy him at the same time,” Zechs pointed out.

Trowa’s smirk grew as he looked back down at Duo, and Duo shivered at the look, at the memories of being shared by them.

They had done this so many ways in the past. 

Zechs only ever topped, only gave head as a reward for a thoroughly good fuck, and never surrendered control. But Trowa seemed to enjoy topping and bottoming equally, seemed to especially like it when he was the one fucking Duo while Zechs fucked  _ him _ . And Duo… Duo had always enjoyed bottoming, had only ever topped for Trowa, and only then when it was the two of them alone.

“I’ve got condoms in my bag,” Trowa said. “And lube.”

Duo hesitated, but decided to just be completely, embarrassingly honest.

“I haven’t been with anyone, since… since us.”

Trowa frowned down at him, the look one of confusion.

“Really?”

Duo flushed at the doubt in his voice.

“Yeah, really. I wouldn’t lie about that to-”

“No, I know you wouldn’t lie. It’s just… You’re the one who didn’t want to try a long distance relationship or-”

“Yeah, I know, I know. I just- Look, all I’m saying is we don’t need condoms unless… unless we need condoms.”

Trowa sighed.

“I’ve been careful. I’ve used condoms with the guys I’ve been with, so I’m still okay too.”

Duo had to stare, didn’t even bother to hide how much those words hurt.

Trowa, the shy science nerd who had been a virgin when he and Duo met during their first year at MIT, who had insisted on staying in bed their first night together until he got it right, until he was able to make Duo feel as good as Duo made him feel, and yeah… okay. It made perfect sense that in a year of being single, Trowa had hooked up with other guys. Trowa was a catch, was perfect and charming, and he was still that shy science guy but he had come out of his shell a bit over the years, and really, Duo wouldn’t be surprised if Trowa had settled into a committed relationship with some filthy rich developer at Google or something.  _ Of course _ Trowa had moved on.

Duo had known he would, had known that Trowa would get out into the world and realize just how forgettable Duo was, and-

“What about you?” Trowa asked Zechs, breaking into Duo’s thoughts.

Duo braced himself for another blow. Zechs, after all, had insisted on almost nightly fucks, or at least Duo sucking him off when they had been together. There was no way  _ he _ had gone a  _ year _ without a slew of new conquests. Or maybe he had found some _ one _ new and special to fill the gap that Duo and Trowa had left.

Zechs had stopped stroking himself during the exchange, and he was watching Duo closely, his cool gaze knowing.

He shrugged carelessly.

“I haven’t been impressed with anyone.”

Duo stared at him.

Zechs lived in  _ Boston _ , summered in the Hamptons, and spent the winter and spring breaks in France. It was laughable to think he hadn’t met  _ anyone _ who impressed him enough for even a casual fuck.

And yet… Zechs wouldn’t lie about this either, hadn’t stopped using condoms to fuck Duo until Duo slapped an envelope of test results on his desk and demanded it.

Duo was left feeling like even more of an idiot, left with way more questions than answers and, unlike science or math, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to come up with any brilliant solutions.

Trowa shifted restlessly, then stepped away from Duo.

“I’ll get the lube,” he muttered, and  _ fled _ the room.

Zechs watched him go, cold blue eyes locked on his slim, nude frame, watching the play of muscles as Trowa vanished into the bedroom.

And then Zechs turned his full attention towards Duo.

It was obvious Zechs knew how much it hurt to realize that Trowa had moved on, that he was confused by Zechs’s reported celibacy, that he was  _ floundering _ .

Duo had never come to Zechs for comfort, had only grudgingly even told Zechs details about his past, and when he had, Zechs had tensed, his gaze becoming even chillier than usual. He had fucked Duo mercilessly after those confessions, leaving Duo bruised and exhausted and  _ spent, _ and only then had Zechs pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Duo in silence. 

“Come here,” Zechs instructed.

Duo rose to his feet and crossed back to the couch, not bothering to crawl between the furniture, and tentatively sat down beside the older man.

Zechs rolled his eyes and pulled Duo to his side. It wasn’t quite an embrace, but… it was something.

Duo felt the pull of Zechs’s fingers in his hair, and reached behind his neck and pulled his hair tie free. Zechs started to comb through Duo’s braid, loosening it until Duo’s hair fell around his shoulders.

“You cut it,” Zechs pointed out.

Duo shrugged one shoulder.

“There was a misunderstanding when I asked for a trim.”

Zechs snorted at the bitterness in Duo’s voice.  _ Trim the ends _ was not the same thing as  _ take off six fucking inches, _ and Duo was probably never going to get over it.

Still, as much as he hated to admit it, having his hair only go down to the middle of his back was a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

Trowa walked back into the room, lube in hand, and stopped short when he saw them together on the couch. Duo saw Trowa’s fingers tighten around the full tube in his hand and his lips compress.

“Am I supposed to apologize for not becoming a monk? For daring to  _ try _ to get over you?” Trowa bit out.

Duo sighed and tried to move away from Zechs, but the other man held him firmly in place against his side.

“Of course not,” Zechs said, his words clipped, a sure sign he was fighting against saying something he would regret. “After all, Duo is the one who ended things.”

Duo swallowed hard and looked away from Trowa’s gaze when he turned to him.

“Look, I just- I thought you two wanted to have sex. But if this… If you want to do  _ this _ now…?”

He looked between them, from Trowa’s tense face to Zechs’s carefully neutral expression.


	9. Serendipity

A/N: Because sometimes I have too much time at work and when people come in with requests for things it gets me thinking “how can I make this a Gundam Wing fic?” So that’s what I did. 

A/N: Thanks to Amberly, Maeve, ChronicWhimsy and Tumbledrylemur on Tumblr for encouraging this.

A/N: I have NOTHING against Millstone, NJ but I needed to set this somewhere. I’m sure it’s full of lovely people.

A/N: As always, thank you to Ro for your amazing support and being my long-suffering beta.

 

Pairings: 2x5, 1x3, 1x2x3x5 (and other derivatives), HxM, Rx4

 

_ Serendipity _

  
  


It was, Wufei decided when the phone rang for the twelfth time, clearly going to be one  _ those _ days. 

This was usually the slow time of year, with only ten days left until Christmas, and it was a time he  _ usually _ used for repairs and rebuilding some of the older pieces that The Costume Closet had in stock. Usually. Because, usually, by this point, all of the costumes for  _ The Nutcracker _ and  _ A Christmas Carol _ that local theatres, schools and churches performed were already rented and sent out. Usually, by this point, only a few straggling Santa Clauses needed to buy or rent their costumes. All of which Duo usually dealt with while Wufei retreated to the sewing room and buried himself in repairs.

Except, for some reason,  _ this  _ year, this  _ week _ , the shop had seen more costumes than Wufei remembered The Costume Closet  _ ever _ dealing with in December.

Between last-minute rentals for toy soldiers and rat kings, they had had requests for nativity scene costumes, themed Christmas parties and holiday parades.

Wufei knew he should be grateful - ever since he and Duo had inherited The Costume Closet from Howard, the former owner who had died two years ago, they had worked tirelessly to grow the store’s reputation and expand their clientele - and he  _ was _ grateful, but he  _ hated _ December. 

And a  _ busy _ December did nothing to diminish his hatred for the month that brought foul weather, depressing memories and a guilt-ridden Duo down upon Wufei. 

It just meant that, in addition to all of his  _ usual _ problems, Wufei now had to be  _ polite _ to people scrambling for things at the last minute. 

He waited until the phone rang a third time before finally leaving the sewing room and going to answer it.

As he walked out, onto the ‘sales floor’ as Duo insisted on calling the section of the Closet that was open to customers, Wufei saw that Duo was behind the makeup counter.

Where he had been for the last three hours.

The parade of twenty angels - teenaged girls from a local Baptist church - who had come in that morning to have Duo do their makeup for the Christmas play at the church that night, had dwindled down to only three. 

Wufei answered the phone just as it rang again, and Duo shot him a pained, pleading look from across the store.

“This is The Costume Closet.”

“Oh, yes, is Howard there?” The caller sounded female and ancient, her voice shaking just enough to make it difficult to understand her.

It was a question that Wufei and Duo heard almost weekly.

“No, this is Wufei, I’m one of the new owners.”

“New owners? Howard sold the store?”

“No, he died two years ago.”

“No! He didn’t!”

Wufei closed his eyes and sighed.

“Yes, I’m sorry, he did.”

“Oh. Bless him. How awful for his family.”

Wufei sighed again, having gone through this very same conversation just three days ago.

Howard had been single ever since the love of his life died in Vietnam, and as far as Wufei knew, he and Duo were the closest thing Howard had had to a  _ family _ . 

“Yes,” he agreed. “Were you calling about a costume?” He tried to get her away from further discussion of Howard.

“Oh, oh yes, I was. This is Irma Meline. And I need a costume.”

Wufei rolled his eyes.

_ One of those days indeed. _

“Yes?”

“Well, I’ve been getting costumes from Howard for the last twenty years. Except last year, I had pneumonia and I spent the winter down in St. Pete with my sister. But this year I’m  _ free, _ so I need a costume.”

Wufei sincerely wished that  _ he _ was being tortured by teenaged girls insisting on more glitter instead of Duo. Duo was good at handling calls like this, good at being patient and good-humored. Wufei was decidedly  _ not _ good at it.

Then again, neither was he any good at makeup. There was a reason  _ he _ worked in the back while Duo manned the front.

“What  _ kind _ of costume?” He tried to force himself to be patient. She was old. She was a customer. She was- 

“What do you mean what  _ kind _ of costume? It’s for the ball.”

_ The ball _ .  _ Obviously _ . As if there was only one ball in the foreseeable future in  _ all _ of New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania.

“What ball, ma’am?” he prompted through gritted teeth.

She made a frustrated sound.

“The New Year’s Eve Ball at the Allamack Mansion,” she snapped.

“Yes, yes of course.” 

Wufei did, at least,  _ know _ about that ball. It had been held every year for at least the last hundred years, and all guests dressed in ‘Revolutionary’ era clothing.

“Well, do you have the dress I always wear?”

Wufei closed his eyes and wondered what, precisely, he had done to deserve this call.

“I’m not sure, ma’am. Do you remember the dress?”

“It’s the pink one.”

Wufei was fairly certain they had at least seven pink dresses that fit into the general colonial/Rococo category. And there were two peach ones, and the one lavender dress that Duo insisted was mauve.

“I think we do,” Wufei said hesitantly, almost confident. In the last six months of Howard’s life, when he had been dying and calling Duo and Wufei almost weekly to ask them to move back from LA and take over the store, he had sold off several costumes in order to make ends meet. There was always a chance that Irma’s pink dress had been among them.

“Well, on Tuesday I go and get my hair done by Valerie at ten thirty. I’ll come by after that.”

They were,  _ usually _ , open by appointment only in December. But Wufei had a feeling that if he asked Irma to give him a specific time, he might be on the phone for another half an hour.

“Yes, wonderful. We’ll see you then.” 

He started to hang up.

“Now, hang on. Maybe I should wait until the week after Christmas. My grandson will be in town, and I’ve got my bridge club meeting on the twenty-seventh.”

Wufei wasn’t sure if she was asking for his opinion, and wasn’t entirely sure what he could say that was  _ allowable _ in any event, so he kept quiet.

“No, no. I’ll come on Tuesday.”

“That sounds good,” Wufei said. “We-”

She hung up, and Wufei stared at the phone in his hand, listening to the dial tone.

With a sigh, he returned it to the charging cradle.

He looked across the store again, and saw that Duo had moved on to another angel.

Two left.

Duo had promised they would close the shop after he was finished with the angels - had even gone so far as committing to turning off the fifteen strands of twinkle lights that decorated the porch  _ and _ the two heavily-decorated, practically radioactively glowing Christmas trees in the store window. 

He had promised, and Wufei was  _ desperate _ to turn the phone onto the messaging service and seam rip to his heart’s content.

The door to the shop opened, and Wufei glared at the bell above the door as it merrily jangled to signal the arrival of another customer.

_ Two _ customers.

Wufei transferred his glare to the two men who stepped into the store, snow on their broad shoulders and their cheeks flushed from the cold.

And then he found himself staring, a little taken aback by how handsome they both were.

The taller of the two had auburn hair that fell over half his face, but even so, Wufei could see his strong, sharp features and wide, full lips. The shorter man looked vaguely Asian, even with his piercing blue eyes.

It was impossible to tell anything about their bodies - both were bundled in sweaters and jackets to ward off the cold - but even so, their faces were very nearly mesmerizing.

Wufei realized, too late, that he had been caught staring.

The taller man was looking back at him, one corner of his mouth tilted upwards, and Wufei flushed.

He didn’t usually stare at the locals - no matter how attractive they were. Not after growing up in this small-minded town and learning the hard way what happened when he was caught staring at another boy.

But these two… they really were mesmerizing. 

Duo, who had looked up to greet them with an absent- minded “Welcome to the Costume Closet,” trailed off in the middle of ‘Closet’ as he too stared at them. 

He caught himself, cleared his throat, and finished the sentence.

The shorter man nodded.

“Ray sent us to get the costumes for the-”

“Shit. Fuck, sorry kids,” Duo immediately apologized to the scandalized girls in front of him. “I forgot that was today. Wufei, can you…?” He gestured to the two men.

Wufei arched an eyebrow.

“They’re with the Fire Department. They’re here to get the costumes.”

“I thought that was happening on Friday.” Wufei couldn’t help but scowl as his dreams of escape started to vanish.

Duo gave him a sheepish look.

“Sorry, Ray called while you were in the back earlier and-”

“Is this a bad time?” the tall man asked.

Wufei sighed as Duo continued to look sheepish.

“No,” he assured the man, “not at all. Just follow me back to the fitting rooms.”

The two men fell into step behind him as Wufei walked towards the back of the ‘sales floor’ and the area that held the two racks of Christmas costumes - Santas, elves, angels and snowmen.

Wufei picked up the rental reservation book and flipped through it until he came across the account for the Volunteer Fire Department in town.

“Is Ray coming?” he asked as he looked at the sheet.

The shorter man snorted a laugh, and the taller man gave a rueful smirk.

“No.”

Wufei arched an eyebrow. Ray Donner, the burly Fire Chief, had been dressing up as Santa Claus for the town’s annual Winter Fair since before Wufei had moved to the town fifteen years ago.

The tall man sighed.

“Ray said that since we were rookies, we had the  _ honor _ of representing the department and sitting on the sleigh all night freezing our asses off.”

Wufei felt his lips twitch in sympathetic amusement.

The Fair, which consisted of all of the shops on Main Street hosting booths - selling food, cider or Christmas gifts - also featured the Fire Department’s volunteer Santa, complete with sled, sitting for hours to pose with children and hear their gift wishes. Wufei had only been a few times as a teenager, and even though The Costume Closet  _ was _ technically on Main Street, Duo agreed that they didn’t need to do a booth or anything for ‘the damn bigots’, in his words.

“You’re both going to be Santa Claus?” Wufei asked.

The taller man shook his head.

“No, just me. Heero is, ah, my little helper.” The man’s lips twitched again, but the shorter man, Heero, just glared at him.

“Laugh it up, Trowa - you’re the one stuck wearing a fat suit.”

The taller man, Trowa, shrugged.

“Sure, but I bet it’s warm.”

Heero’s face turned a little sour as he no doubt imagined sitting in the cold for hours.

“I recommend long johns under the elf tights,” Wufei suggested.

“Tights?” Heero echoed. Trowa’s lips split into a wide grin, and Heero glared at him.

Wufei nodded, and then arched an eyebrow.

“Is that a problem?” He still  _ very _ distinctly remembered the man who had come in for Halloween last year wanting to be ‘classic Superman’ and the way he had balked at the red tights Duo handed him to try on, had called both Duo and Wufei queer fairy fags and insisted that  _ men _ didn’t wear tights. It had been frustrating, humiliating and, at least to Duo, darkly funny. There had also been plenty of times that men had turned their noses up at the elf tights and insisted they would just wear ‘real pants.’

“No,” Heero sighed. ”I’ll wear long johns under them. And tights are hardly the worse thing I’ve ever had to wear.”

Trowa turned to him with an arched eyebrow.

“Really? What else have you worn?” Hhe asked, and folded his arms as he waited for Heero to answer.

Heero, however, simply rolled his eyes and turned back to Wufei.

“Ray said that the department already had all of the payment information on file. Do you need anything from us or do we just… pick up the costumes?”

“No, that’s all taken care of. But I do need you to try them on, to make sure everything fits.”

Trowa looked delighted at the prospect.

“I just need to know what size clothes you normally wear?” Wufei prompted them. Usually, he just guessed - years working as a costume designer in LA had taught him how to judge a person’s general measurements just by looking at them. But with their jackets and sweaters on, it was impossible for Wufei to guess with these two.

“Medium?” Heero said with a shrug.

Trowa’s lips twitched in amusement again, and Wufei found himself actually sharing it.

“I wear a 40 long - sometimes a 42. My inseam is a 35 - and I try to find 31- inch waist trousers, but I never can so I usually go with 32s.”

Heero stared at Trowa as he listed off the measurements.

“What? Not all of us live our lives in spandex and sweats,” Trowa said to him.

Heero shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“ _ I _ wear jeans sometimes,” he said defensively.

“Do you even know what size they are?” Trowa asked.

Heero scowled and shrugged, his cheeks pinking up slightly.

“Most men seem to have no clue what size they wear,” Wufei offered up, half as an admonishment and half as a reassurement.

Trowa arched an eyebrow again.

“How do they buy clothes?”

Wufei shrugged.

“I have no idea. Maybe their mothers and girlfriends and wives just buy everything?”

Trowa gave Heero a look.

“ _ No _ ,” Heero growled, “my mother does not still buy my clothes.”

“What about when you were in the Navy? Surely your uniform had a size in it?”

Heero nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. It was whatever size the quartermaster said I wore.”

Trowa rolled his eyes and turned back to Wufei.

“Sorry about him.”

Wufei shrugged.

“It’s fine. Medium is enough information for me - for the elf costume.” The standard elf costume - a green tunic with triangle cut-outs on them hem and red and white striped tights - was sized extra-small to extra-large.

Wufei looked back at Trowa.

“The belly pad for our Santas is designed to be worn  _ over _ the pants. I’m probably going to have to do some alterations to the pants. We don’t get too many Santas with such small waists.”

Trowa nodded and shrugged one shoulder.

“Sorry. I have no ass to speak of.”

Heero snorted a laugh, and the two men exchanged a look that Wufei optimistically interpreted as affectionate.

There was something between these two, that much he could pick up on. He didn’t know if they were gay - and in this town, Wufei had found it safe to always assume men were straight until they had a hand on his dick and even then to be cautious. But even if they  _ weren’t _ gay, it was clear that they were at least  _ mildly _ attracted to one another.

_ Straight bros who like to blow each other _ , Duo would have muttered if he were standing beside Wufei. They had both encountered enough of  _ those _ kinds of ‘straight’ men in this town, and even in LA.

“It’s fine,” Wufei assured him, and then found his cheeks turning red when Trowa arched an eyebrow again and one corner of his lips tilted upwards. Heero looked amused, and Wufei felt his belly give a curious lurch.

_ Off limits _ , he scolded himself. Lusting after customers was  _ never _ a good idea.

“I’ll get some things for you to two to try on,” Wufei muttered, and made a hasty escape to the racks of Christmas costumes and started to pull out pieces for them.

The  _ last _ time Wufei had been enough of an idiot to find a customer attractive and decide to flirt with him, he had been in high school, working at The Costume Closet part-time, and he had earned himself a split-lip for his awkwardly stammered ‘you look amazing - you’d look amazing in anything.’ And of course Duo, who had also been working, had thrown himself into the fray - totally unconcerned by the fact that the angry customer outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds - and had come out of it with a black eye, and they had  _ both _ been lectured by Howard while they cradled ice-packs to their faces to be careful, to be  _ safe,  _ to get the hell out of Millstone when they graduated and find somewhere to live where they could be themselves.

_ And yet _ , Wufei couldn’t help but think bitterly as he grabbed a wig and beard for Trowa,  _ here we are, back in Millstone _ .

  
  
  



	10. Snowday

 

A/N: Always, always a thousand thank yous to Ro. You are the best beta I could ask for and holy shit do you put up with a LOT of random thoughts from me ALL the time.

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex

Pairings: 6x2, 3x5, 1xR, 4xD 

 

_ Snowday _

 

For a kid raised in Florida, who had thought  _ fifty degrees _ was freezing for most of his life, Duo had adapted to actual winters and actual cold surprisingly well after moving to New Jersey three years ago.

At least, Duo thought he had adapted well until  _ this _ mess. Storm Stella. Storm  _ Fuck you, Duo _ is what it should have been named.

Duo could handle snow, could handle cold, cold handle having to dig his damn car out of the snow by  _ hand, _ and he could shovel the sidewalk for his elderly neighbors and he could - after a lot of meticulous searching through online catalogues - make thermal underwear look good. He could do all of those things.

But what he couldn’t do was survive without power, without  _ heat _ .

He thought back to the realtor’s expression when she had shown Duo the apartments in the area three years ago, thought back to her insistence that he look at some of the  _ older _ apartments that had gas heating and not electric heating. But Duo had been just as insistent, had, okay, admittedly been dumb and irrationally afraid of gas heating because he was terrified of carbon monoxide poisoning, and maybe that wasn’t even a thing with gas heating but he didn’t know and he didn’t want to die. Plus, newer was better, right? The realtor had shaken her head, but had dutifully shown Duo the gleaming modern apartments he asked for, and Duo had forked over the rent gladly. He could trust electricity.

Except, of course, when he couldn’t.

Except when Storm  _ Fuck you, Duo _ struck, and Duo managed to stick it out for one night, wearing two pairs of thermal long johns and thermal understhirts, a pair of sweatpants and three sweaters while wrapped in two blankets, and maybe he couldn’t  _ move _ but at least he woke up alive the next morning.

Alive and very grudgingly grateful that the stove, at least, was gas. He made himself a cup of tea and held his hands way too close to the burner, and wondered if he was going to die like this. 

And then, because Storm  _ Fuck you, Duo _ apparently had a karmic side as well as the really fucked-up physical one, Zechs called.

Duo’s phone was almost dead, the sad little battery bar so thin it was hard to see at all, and Duo contemplated not answering at all.

Then, he sighed, realizing he was being childish and  _ dumb _ , and answered the damn thing.

“Hey.” He tried to sound casual, but his voice was rough and he knew that he sounded anything  _ but _ casual.

“I wanted to see how you were surviving the storm.”

“Just fine. Enjoying it, actually.”

Zechs refrained from calling Duo out on the lie, but he knew Duo well enough to know that while Duo had  _ adapted _ to the cold, he wasn’t all that enamoured with it.

“Do you still have power?”

Duo sighed.

“No. Lost it yesterday afternoon.”

“You haven’t had power since  _ yesterday _ ?”

Duo rolled his eyes at Zechs’s incredulous tone.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal, Zechs. I’m perfectly capable of bundling up and-”

“Pack a bag and come to my house.”

Zechs, of course, had gas heating. Really glorious gas heating that meant the wooden floors of his little mountainside house were never cold. Duo could practically  _ feel _ the heat of Zechs’s house.

“I still have power,” Zechs added, clearly trying to sweeten the offer. 

“ _ How _ ?” Duo asked, uncaring that he was whining. “How the fuck do you still have power when you live on the side of a fucking mountain?”

Zechs chuckled. 

“I guess I just got lucky.”

Duo sighed, and tried to think of a  _ rational _ excuse to stay at his own apartment.

“The university is closed tomorrow. Come over, get a decent night of sleep, and you can relax tomorrow without worrying about freezing to death.”

“I don’t know how much  _ relaxing _ I can do considering these papers I need to grade before-”

“You can’t grade them if you don’t have access to the internet,” Zechs pointed out.

Duo scowled. There was, of course,  _ that _ .

“Look, I appreciate the offer but it’s like… a three mile hike to get to your place, and I might as well-”

“Duo, let me take care of you.”

The words, Zechs’s tone, made Duo’s jaw clench. 

“I don’t  _ need _ you to take care of me, Zechs.”

Zechs scoffed.

“I didn’t realize you were immune to hypothermia.”

“I’m- Look, I can probably crash with Trowa and Wufei or something; their place has gas heating. You don’t need to-”

“I don’t need to  _ care _ about you?”

Duo sighed. There really wasn’t a way to win this fight.

“You don’t need to take care of me. I can fend for myself, yanno. It’s not like I wasn’t doing it for my whole life before I met you and-”

“It’s one night, Duo. I’m not asking you to move in with me.”

_ Not again _ .

He didn’t need to say it - the words hung between them, heavy and sharp.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Duo growled, angry with himself and with Zechs and with the entire world, especially with Storm  _ Fuck you, Duo _ . “Fine. You win.”

“This isn’t about winning, Duo,” Zechs sighed, irritated and patronizing. “This is simply about keeping you  _ alive _ .”

Duo didn’t have a response to that that wasn’t ridiculously petulant, so instead he forced himself to draw in a deep breath.

“I’ll pack a bag,” he muttered, “and head over. It’ll probably take me awhile to get there, and my phone is almost dead, so…”

“I won’t call you every ten minutes to make sure you’re still alive,” Zechs assured him.

Duo rolled his eyes at Zechs’s tone, but he hung up the phone and set about actually packing.

His computer, charger and phone charger went into his backpack first. He added a few clean pairs of underwear and socks, but there wasn’t really any room for a change of clothes. 

Of course, he still  _ had _ a change of clothes at Zechs’s house, from the last time he had spent the night more than a month ago.

Annoyed at  _ life _ all over again, Duo slammed his dresser drawer closed and then stopped.

Should he change? He was wearing the same thermal underwear he had put on two days ago - it had been too cold to change last night, or this morning, and he had just added layers on top of everything. 

It wouldn’t hurt to change.

Then again, it was down to just over forty degrees in his apartment… It actually  _ might _ hurt to change. 

And besides, it wasn’t like he wanted to look nice for Zechs.

Hell, it wasn’t even as if Zechs  _ cared _ if Duo looked nice - if Duo showed up looking like a half-frozen vagrant, Zechs would just make noises and insist on running a bath for him and  _ taking care _ of him.


	11. Thanksgiving

Quick, pointless smut because it’s Thanksgiving.

Pairings: 2x3x5x6x1 and any combination thereof

Warnings: language, sex, slight angst.

  
  


_ Thanksgiving _

 

Wufei sighed and tugged at his tie again as he looked at his reflection in the overhead visor mirror.

He should have worn his contacts, and not his glasses. But he had been up late reading last night - as he was most nights - and his eyes had felt so dry and irritated this morning that the  _ thought _ of trying to put in his contacts was akin to just stabbing a nail into them.

But he would have looked better, with the contacts. Would have looked much less like the self-conscious, anxiety ridden, socially inept failure that he was.

He sighed again, irritated with himself.

This was simply who he  _ was _ \- an unpopular, socially awkward, obsessive intellectual who only felt comfortable reading books, writing papers, taking notes in a lecture hall or arguing about history or literature. He had  _ been _ this way since childhood, and at the age of twenty-five, he should really just accept that he would  _ remain _ this way and learn to live with himself.

He should, but, of course, he couldn’t. He found just as much fault with himself on a daily basis as he did with the world around him, and it was exhausting.

So exhausting that he really,  _ really _ wanted to turn his car back on, and drive back to his hovel of a graduate student campus apartment and sleep. 

He wanted to, actually  _ needed _ to considering the complete lack of sleep he had been getting for the last six weeks as he tried to manage the coursework for the three seminars he was taking, as well as grading the obscene amount of papers that Dr. Khushrenada assigned to his undergraduate students and then foisted off on Wufei to actually grade. 

Wufei was exhausted, and had been counting down to the week of Thanksgiving break as his chance to finally,  _ maybe _ , sleep more than a handful of hours at a time. To  _ maybe _ go out and buy some warmer socks and maybe a few sweaters, and if he had the money, an  _ actual _ winter coat because growing up in Texas had not in any way prepared him for Boston falls and he was already having nightmares about winter.

But, instead of doing any of that, he had spent the week trying to catch up on reading and grading and  _ today _ , a day he had actually  _ promised _ himself he could take off completely and just spend in bed, he had been woken up at 8am, and then again at 10am, and then  _ again _ at 11am by text messages from Duo Maxwell and Trowa Barton.

The two were, like Wufei, first year PhD candidates and, along with Heero Yuy, the four of them had formed a study group that met twice a week in the Eastman Research Library. They had met during orientation, when graduate students who would serve as TAs had been bombarded with a solid week of “training” on how to teach and how  _ not _ to sexually harass their students. Even though they were all in different programs - Heero was in political science, Trowa in Nineteenth century literature, Duo in Modern Middle Eastern history and Wufei in American history - they had all taken the same elective seminar in European colonialism that fall. 

Wufei had, completely, predictably, and embarrassingly, fallen immediately in love with Trowa. Quiet, confident, deeply and subtly sarcastic and breathtakingly gorgeous, Trowa seemed to have been crafted from all of Wufei’s most cherished fantasies. 

Duo, Trowa’s roommate, and Wufei was sure,  _ lover _ , was as outgoing as Trowa was reserved, but just as intelligent and witty. And  _ annoying _ , not just because he lived with Trowa and constantly flirted with him and touched him, but because he had decided to be  _ nice _ to Wufei, to be friendly and flirty, and Wufei couldn’t decide if Duo was doing it because he was an asshole or because he was  _ interested _ in Wufei. To make matters worse, Wufei couldn’t decide if  _ he _ was interested in Duo. 

He loved Trowa with the intensity of a middle school crush, but there was something about Duo that was compelling, something about his crooked grin and long fingers that made him a regular feature in Wufei’s masturbation fantasies. 

Of course, when Duo woke him up at 8 in the morning on a day when  _ no one _ should be up that early, Duo quickly moved from erotic fantasy column to murder fantasy column. 

_ Just reminding you about lunch with Sexy Zechsy. Happy Thanksgiving. _

Sexy Zechsy.

Zechs Merquise,  _ Dr. _ Merquise, was the head librarian for the Eastman Research library and, despite the juvenile nature of Duo’s nickname for him, the man certainly  _ deserved _ the moniker. 

Tall, slim, with tantalizingly pale, long blond hair that he usually wore loose and wire rimmed glasses that made him look even more intelligent and sensuous, Zechs Merquise clearly  _ knew _ he was handsome and enjoyed the attention he garnered from the students, faculty and staff at the college.

He enjoyed it - and he acted on it.

Duo had been the first of their group, walking into the study lounge they usually commandeered ten minutes late and looking completely shell-shocked. 

_ He kissed me _ , Duo had muttered, eyes unfocused and looking like he was dreaming.  _ He backed me up against the Sufi poetry and put his tongue in my mouth and his hand on my ass _ .

Trowa had been amused, Heero had said that Duo was making it up, and Wufei had been filled with indignation. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more - the fact that Zechs might have broken any number of rules by kissing a student under his, if not supervision or authority… under his care - or the fact that Duo seemed completely unashamed and in fact  _ happy _ about the fact that someone other than Trowa, gorgeous, perfect Trowa who he  _ lived  _ with and probably  _ slept  _ with, had kissed him.

A week later, and Heero had confessed that he and Zechs had fucked in Zechs’ car the night before, when Heero had stayed late in the library and the two had walked out together when it closed.

Two weeks after that, neither Duo nor Trowa could keep from smirking when they related their Saturday night, spent at Zechs’s house, naked, in his bed, for what sounded like an obscene or at least extremely exaggerated amount of sex.

The next month had been the retelling of one lewd encounter after another, until Wufei had started to contemplate no longer attending their study sessions.

Sure, he was getting  _ more than enough _ information to provide himself with graphically detailed visuals, but he was also incredibly frustrated.

On one level, he understood - Heero, Duo and Trowa were handsome, confident in their sexuality and their attractiveness, while he…

Wufei was slight, and while a childhood obsession with martial arts and daily yoga meant he was in excellent shape, he had had a lifetime of being made fun of for being the smallest, and he  _ knew _ that however strong he was, he was still small and thin. Add to that his glasses, his unfashionably long hair that he usually wore pulled back, and he  _ knew _ he wasn’t a catch.

He  _ knew _ there was no reason for Trowa, or Duo - or Heero - let alone  _ Zechs _ to have any interest in him.

He knew all of that, but it didn’t change the fact that he  _ wanted _ them to have an interest in him, that he  _ wanted _ someone to find him attractive or at least  _ interesting _ .

Wufei hated being the outsider in this group of sexy and sexually adventurous men, but he didn’t know  _ what _ to do to change it - aside from simply walking away, which he was unprepared to do.

Even so, last week, when Wufei had seen Zechs sneeringly lecturing freshmen on how to use the library’s Galileo catalog, and Zechs had looked over and offered Wufei a smirk, Wufei had hated the way his stomach fluttered.

Worse, when Zechs had dismissed the freshmen and turned his full attention on Wufei, Wufei had actually  _ stuttered _ nervously. Something he had done constantly in his youth but, after years of speech therapy, now only rarely did.

“Any Thanksgiving plans?” Zechs had asked as he flicked his perfect, moonlight hair over his shoulder.

“N-n-no. N-not really.” Wufei had felt his face burning with shame.

Zechs only nodded.

“You should come over, then. I always enjoying putting out a large spread for my favorites.”

Wufei could only stare at him stupidly.

“Your favorites?”

Zechs just smirked. 

“You and your friends, of course.”

Wufei’s friends. The trio of boys that, if they were to be believed, had been engaged in illicit affairs with the librarian for the better part of the semester.

“I…” Wufei hated feeling foolish, hated not knowing what to say,  _ hated _ being intimidated.

“Come over around one. Trowa and Duo can give you directions.”

Zechs smirked again before reaching out to squeeze Wufei’s shoulder in a depressingly platonic way.

Wufei was convinced the invitation was merely Zechs being polite. But when he considered the reality that Zechs was  _ polite _ to almost no one, he allowed himself to have the slightest hope that the invitation might be sincere.

Duo’s 8am reminder text encouraged that hope, but it also sent Wufei into a spiral of doubt and self-loathing. 

Thanksgiving with four of the most attractive men he knew, most of whom - maybe  _ all _ of whom - had had sex with one another. 

There was  _ no _ chance that Wufei would make it through the meal without making a complete and utter fool of himself.

So, after waking up and showering, Wufei had promptly gone back to bed. There was no point - he wouldn’t go. It was the safest course of action.

Then, of course, Duo had texted again at 10am.

_ Here’s Sexy’s address - let me know if you have trouble finding him! _

Wufei had stared at the address, at the text, at the dream of… of what, precisely? He knew all the ways that the Thanksgiving meal could go wrong, but was there even a chance for it to go  _ right _ ?

In the best of all possible worlds, what did Wufei even think would happen? 

Duo was the only one who seemed to enjoy arguing with Wufei about things - Heero would usually state his own point as if were the definitive answer and move on. Trowa, more often than not, would shrug and say  _ perhaps _ before abandoning the topic. Only Duo rose to the challenge, offering not just his own opinions but the facts to back them up. 

And Zechs… Wufei had only had a handful of encounters with the librarian. He had, in fact, gone out of his way to  _ avoid _ the man after learning that Duo, Trowa and Heero were involved with him. He had absolutely no idea what Zechs’s interests were. 

In all likelihood, this would be several hours of either exceedingly dull conversation, Wufei making an ass of himself in the first ten minutes, or hours of Duo and Trowa flirting with each other. Or all three.

Wufei had set his phone down and gathered his comforter closer in an effort to cocoon himself.

At 11, though, Trowa had been the one to text.

_ Hope to see you at lunch. It’s nothing fancy - but Zechs would probably appreciate it if you bring a bottle of wine. _

Wufei could practically  _ hear _ Trowa’s soft voice saying the words, and it calmed him. It made him think that, really, this was  _ just _ a meal. 

Probably it  _ would _ be Wufei and Duo arguing over something while Heero sat back, content in his own superiority, while Trowa fought back a smirk whenever Duo said something funny and Zechs would just sit there and drink wine, looking over all of them with a patronizing smirk. And, at some point, Wufei was sure that he would subtly be nudged towards the door so that the four of them could move on to more intimate pursuits.

It would be  _ fine _ . 

He would be fine.

 

-o-

Wufei finally dragged himself out of his car and forced himself to walk up to the front of the brick townhouse that Duo’s battered Jeep and Heero’s immaculate black Lexus were parked in front of.

He fingered the label on the bottle of wine he had purchased that morning, hoping that a twenty dollar bottle of wine would be acceptable. He felt that Zechs’s tastes probably erred towards the exorbitant, but Wufei, as a graduate student barely making ends meet with his annual stipend and his part-time job at Starbucks, couldn’t afford more.

He stood in front of the door long enough to feel like an idiot, but eventually he raised his hand and knocked.

It was, after all, too damn cold to just  _ stand _ there all day.

Even though it was likely only a minute or two, Wufei felt as if he stood on the stoop for hours, the chill November wind cutting into his exposed face, neck and hands.

Zechs opened the door, wearing his standard uniform of a pastel dress shirt - pink, today - and dark, fitted trousers - dark brown. He looked gorgeous and casual and  _ warm _ .

“Wufei.” He seemed genuinely happy and surprised.

“I… brought this.” Wufei thrust the bottle of wine into Zechs’s hands.

Zechs’s lips quirked into his all too familiar, all too patronizing smirk.

“How thoughtful. I do love a good Chardonnay.”

Wufei flushed. He didn’t drink much, or often, and his only experience with wine was from Meilan, his ex-girlfriend, who had aggressively ordered fruity cocktails and crisp, fruity wines as though daring anyone to call her  _ girly _ so that she could pick a fight with them. She had preferred Chardonnay to other wines, and Wufei had tried it a few times and found it palatable, if not necessarily  _ good _ .

“Please come in,” Zechs motioned for Wufei to step inside. “The others are in the study.” Zechs’s lips twitched again. “There wasn’t a consensus on whether or not you would be joining us, but Trowa suggested we wait just a while longer in case you decided to come.”

Wufei looked at his feet, anywhere but at Zechs’s cool blue eyes and cruel, sensuous lips.

“I wasn’t sure about it either,” he admitted.

Zechs squeezed his shoulder.

“Well, I am certain everyone will be as pleased as I am that you are here. Shall I take your coat?”

Wufei pulled off his too-thin canvas jacket and handed it to Zechs.

He nodded towards an open doorway at the end of the hall, past a staircase.

“Join them while I put a few finishing touches on the arrangements and chill this wine.”

Zechs watched him, waiting until Wufei actually walked towards the room before moving off in a different direction, presumably towards the kitchen.

Wufei went into the room, the  _ study _ , cautiously.

The room was bigger than Wufei’s entire apartment, which wasn’t at all surprising. Nor were the floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with hard-bound tomes. Even the leather sofa, armchair and massive ebony desk seemed in character for Zechs.

What  _ did _ take him aback, however, were the glass display cases filled with a wild array of artifacts. Artifacts that appeared to be in varying states of decay, made from different materials and in different sizes, but all were, unmistakably, phalluses.

There were probably nearly a hundred of them displayed throughout the room.

“Some hobby, huh?”

Wufei jerked his wide-eyed gaze to the leather sofa, where Duo and Heero sat.

Duo had a glass carelessly dangling in one hand and he was stretched out on the sofa, taking up so much room that his feet rested in Heero’s lap.

Wufei arched an eyebrow at that - and then his cheeks flamed when he realized that Duo’s feet weren't just  _ in _ Heero’s lap - Duo was massaging Heero’s covered, though clearly erect, penis through the fabric of his trousers.

Wufei had to stare for a moment before he realized that he hadn't seen Trowa yet.

Both Duo and Heero seemed completely unconcerned with Wufei’s presence. Duo continued to rub his heel over the tent in Heero’s pants, and Heero obligingly spread his legs wider.

“What… what are you  _ doing _ ?”

Wufei had seen Duo and Trowa flirt before, had seen Duo suggestively touch Trowa’s chest and thighs and Trowa squeeze Duo’s ass, but he had never seen Duo do something  _ this _ bold. 

And this wasn’t Trowa. It was Heero.

And Heero and Duo weren’t involved, were they?

Heero arched an eyebrow at him while Duo grinned.

“Waiting on you, obviously.”

Wufei glared at him, but when Duo made no effort to explain  _ why _ he was rubbing his foot on Heero’s groin, Wufei gestured angrily.

“Why are you feeling him  _ up _ ?”

Duo’s lips twitched, and it was clear he wanted to laugh at Wufei.

“Well, we’re in a room full of dicks. And I’ve been waiting for today all week so I’m kind of horny as hell. And Ro hasn’t been complaining. Ro, you okay with me feeling you up?”

Heero snorted.

“I think I would prefer it if you actually got down on your knees and used more than your  _ foot _ , but Zechs would give us a lecture about manners and patience again.”

Duo rolled his eyes and groaned.

“He would. He’d give us a lecture while fucking us - and I don’t mind that part, but he is so fucking pretentious when he has his cock in my ass.”

Heero nodded in agreement.

Wufei felt like he had entered some alternate universe.

He could only stare at them.

“I don’t understand you! You’re dating  _ Trowa _ ! Why would you want to sleep around if you had  _ him _ ?”

Both Heero and Duo turned their full attention back to Wufei.

“Huh.”

Duo grinned, his broad, lopsided grin that meant he had suddenly realized a new way to make Wufei’s life hell.

“You know, Tro is my best friend - but we’re not dating. We fuck all the time, because we live together and neither one of us has time to date and it’s not like anyone would put up with  _ me _ full-time anyway, and Tro has all of his trust issues, but we’re not dating. But, uh, even if Tro and I  _ were _ dating - you know we’ve all been fucking Zechs for most of the semester. We’ve  _ told  _ you about it.”

Heero nodded.

They had, Wufei knew all too well.

But he hadn’t been confronted with the evidence of their collective promiscuity until today. 

“But let’s get back to you defending Tro’s honor from my hypothetical cuckoldry.”

“Cuckoldry?” Heero repeated, one corner of his lips tipping upwards.

Duo shrugged.

“If it’s not a word, it should be.”

Heero’s lips curved upwards in one of his rare smiles that he seemed to favor Duo with.

“Anyway,” Duo turned his focus back to Wufei, “back to this concept of me  _ having _ Trowa and therefore not needing to want anyone else. Just how long have you been in love with him?”

Wufei sputtered.

“I’m  _ not _ \- That’s not what I- It-”

His inability to make an articulate response was likely as dooming as Wufei’s pink cheeks.

Duo laughed in delight at Wufei’s mortification.

“So  _ that’s _ why you don’t give me the time of day when I flirt with you? Because you only have eyes for Tro, huh? Well. That’ll make today interesting.”

Heero nodded.

“What - don’t you  _ dare _ say anything to him!” Wufei advanced on Duo.

Duo just continued to grin, then took a sip of his wine.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I won’t have to say a single word.”

Before Wufei could ask just  _ what _ that was supposed to mean, Zechs entered the room.

He arched an eyebrow at Duo and Heero on the couch, one corner of his lips tilting upwards in either amusement or reprimand. 

Duo sat up, grinning, unrepentant.

“Is the feast prepared?” he asked with a wink.

Heero coughed a laugh.

“Yes,” Zechs said with a long-suffering sigh. “It is.”

He made a broad gesture towards the open door behind him, and Duo and Heero rose from the couch and preceded him from the room.

Wufei, however, remained.

Zechs arched an eyebrow at him.

“I think that I should leave,” Wufei said.

“Well, if you feel you must.” Zechs shrugged. “I know how much Trowa was looking forward to you joining us, but if you feel uncomfortable…” Zechs trailed off.

Wufei sighed.

He  _ did _ feel uncomfortable. He felt left out, and he felt like there was something - something very significant - that he was missing.

“Where  _ is _ Trowa?” Wufei finally asked.

“Waiting for us in the dining room, of course.”

_ Of course _ .

That didn’t even make any sense.

“I…”

“Why not at least come and see him? And then, if you still feel you should go, you may.”

Wufei sighed again, but he followed Zechs from the study and back into the hallway and then into another room.

Presumably, this was the dining room.

But there was  _ nothing _ in front of Wufei that indicated this was the location for an impending meal - at least, not the kind  _ he _ had ever had.

Well, there  _ was _ a table and several chairs. A sturdy, dark wood table that was completely bare except for Trowa Barton.

Who was also completely bare, except for a series of intricately knotted ropes that bound his arms across his chest, and secured his bent legs wide apart. The ropes crossed over Trowa’s chest, abdomen and arms, circling around tanned, oiled flesh that Wufei had been  _ dreaming _ about for months now. 

Trowa’s groin was left exposed, his thighs spread wide to seemingly show off both his fully erect penis and his gleaming, puckered anus. An anus spread wide to accommodate a silver plug or - knowing what was in the other room - phallus.

Wufei swallowed hard, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, anxiety and lust warred within him - he had  _ never _ thought to see Trowa’s naked body, nevermind see his  _ bound _ and stretched naked body on display as if he were the main course for the meal.

_ Oh _ .

Wufei felt like an idiot, and he knew that he was once again blushing.

“Trowa, you were right. Wufei  _ did _ decide to join us this afternoon,” Zechs said, pulling Wufei’s attention away from Trowa’s gleaming ass.

Trowa’s sharp, brilliant green eyes were focused solely on Wufei’s face.

Wufei wished he could just melt into the floor or spontaneously combust or- or  _ something _ .

And then Trowa smiled, his lips curving upwards just the barest amount, but it somehow felt as if the sun was shining brighter, and Wufei  _ hated _ how much he loved Trowa’s smile.

“Gotta say, you look  _ really _ good, Tro.” Duo reached out and tweaked Trowa’s right nipple, hard enough for Trowa to wince.

But instead of glaring at Duo, Trowa’s mouth parted in a silent gasp and he arched his body into the touch.

That… was unexpected.

_ All _ of this was unexpected.

Wufei had known, from Duo’s vivid recountings, that Trowa usually bottomed for both Zechs and Duo, but Wufei hadn’t realized that Trowa was a masochist, or that  _ any _ of them were into bondage. 

“Good enough to eat,” Duo added with a lascivious grin, and replaced his fingers with his mouth, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth as he bit Trowa’s nipple.

Trowa let out a breathy little gasp that felt like an electric shock straight to Wufei’s cock.

He had been aroused, embarrassingly, by Duo fondling Heero in the other room. The sight of Trowa’s naked body had only added to his arousal, but now… now his cock was hard and straining against the confines of his trousers.

Zechs made a tutting noise, and Duo released Trowa’s nipple and lifted his eyebrows.

“Shall we sit?” Zechs gestured to the chairs spread around the table.

Duo rolled his eyes, but he sat down in the chair nearest him, while Heero sat across the table from him.

Wufei stood, anxious and frozen in place, while Zechs sat down in the chair near Trowa’s head.

Leaving the chair directly in front of Trowa’s cock and ass as the only one available.

“Well?” Zechs prompted. “Will you be joining us after all, or did you still want to leave?”

“I… W-w-what would I be staying  _ for _ ?” Wufei managed to ask.

Zechs smirked and then chuckled, his cold, patronizing chuckle that Wufei had heard several times over the course of the semester when someone made the mistake of asking Zechs a question that he deemed to be idiotic.

The blond haired man reached out and idly started to run his fingers through Trowa’s hair, pulling it away from his face with sharp tugs.

“For Trowa, of course. There’s certainly plenty of him to go around.”

“I…”

“Are you a virgin?” Heero asked, blunt as always.

Wufei’s face  _ burned _ .

“N-n-no! Of course I’m not!”

Heero smirked, clearly thinking that Wufei was lying.

He wasn’t, but he had only had sex twice - the first time had been disastrous, and the second time merely humiliating. He  _ knew _ he wasn’t anything like these other men. He wasn’t gorgeous or experienced  _ or _ adventurous.

“Leave him alone, Ro,” Duo grumbled. “He’s nervous - you gonna tell me  _ you _ weren’t nervous the first time we did this?”

Heero glared at him.

“That’s what I thought.” Duo sighed and turned to Wufei. “Look, we’re just here to have a little fun. Well, Tro’s here to have a little fun and a little pain on the side.”

“I don’t understand.” Wufei really  _ didn’t _ . 

Trowa looked like a cat having his ears scratched right now - but Zechs was pulling his hair hard enough that Wufei found  _ himself _ wincing. And surely Trowa was uncomfortable, with his body contorted and bound like this. And being on display like this, at the mercy of  _ everyone _ else. 

Wufei would have been terrified to be in Trowa’s position - even more so than he was just  _ looking _ at Trowa. 

“You said Trowa had trust issues,” Wufei reminded Duo. “How- Why-”

“Thanks a lot,” Trowa muttered, glaring at Duo.

Duo shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry, dude. I was just trying to explain our relationship.”

Trowa sighed, and he looked over at Wufei.

“It’s just sex, Wufei. If you aren’t interested, then you don’t have to stay. But,” Trowa gasped as Zechs pulled on his hair sharply, “I wish you would,” he moaned.

Wufei’s cock throbbed at the sound and, helpless to do anything else, he sat.

“Now then, it seems obvious to me that your friends did not, in fact, explain today’s menu.”

Heero smirked at the rebuke, but Duo shrugged and nodded at Trowa.

Trowa’s cheeks pinked slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to Zechs.

“Hm.” Zechs gave another sharp tug on Trowa’s hair. “Did you neglect to tell Wufei the details because you wanted to embarrass him, or because you were worried about revealing just what a filthy, needy slut you really are?”

Trowa swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

That was… interesting.

Wufei had never seen the other man anything less than confident in himself.

He found himself staring at Trowa’s exposed body again, studying the dark, angry color of his cock and watching the way his anus tightened around the silver plug every time Zechs pulled on his hair.

Wufei realized that everyone was still silent, realized that he had been staring at Trowa’s body while everyone was waiting for  _ him _ .

“I…”

What exactly was he supposed to say?

In all of his wildest fantasies about Trowa,  _ none _ of them had featured anything like this.

“I don’t mind,” he said at last.

Heero’s lips twitched, while Duo laughed outright and Zechs managed a cough. Trowa’s cheeks grew even warmer, and Wufei felt his own start to turn red. Again.

“Excellent,” Zechs said after a moment. “We generally try not to overwhelm the  _ offering _ ,” he gestured at Trowa. “But Trowa, of course, generally  _ prefers _ to be overwhelmed.”

“I don’t understand.” Wufei felt as helpless and exposed as though  _ he _ were tied up on the table instead of Trowa. 

There were just  _ so many _ possibilities, and he was already so far outside of his comfort zone, that Wufei honestly had no idea what was about to happen.

He could guess, however, that it would likely entail him making a fool of himself.

“Well, basically, if it were  _ me _ trussed up, I’d prefer, you know, just one cock at a time in my ass and mouth, and I could do without being swatted with anything.” Duo picked up a leather crop that had been placed in front of his place setting, and Wufei looked down to see that he had a similar one at his own. “Or have some asshole,” here Duo paused to glare at Heero, “drag ice all over my body because he can’t patiently wait his  _ fucking turn _ .”

Heero just smirked, and Zechs looked at the two of them as though they were precocious, slightly irritating children.

Wufei tried to picture the scenario Duo had described - tried to imagine Duo tied up on the table while Zechs filled his mouth and Trowa his ass, and an impatient Heero tortured his nipples and cock with an ice cube.

Wufei swallowed hard and spread his legs under the table, subtly trying to adjust his  _ own _ cock that felt even more engorged just thinking about it.

“And Heero?” Wufei had to ask.

Heero smirked, but it was Duo who continued to explain.

“Oh, Ro just wants to be blindfolded and have his face fucked all night long.”

Yet  _ another _ mental image that Wufei would never have predicted, but  _ now _ …

“What about…?” he trailed off as he looked at Zechs. The blond haired man arched one elegant eyebrow.

“I can hardly  _ host _ if I am in that sort of position,” Zechs pointed out.

Duo gave Wufei a look.

“So, basically, Trowa enjoys  _ everything _ \- and wants as much attention as possible. Which, since you did show up, gives me an idea.”

Duo drummed his fingers against the tabletop, his eyes bright as he looked over Trowa’s body.

“What if Zechs and I fuck him, while Heero rides him and Wufei 

  
  
  



	12. Untitled 3xR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta read, as always, by Ro

  
  


Almost seven hundred channels, and the only thing that interested Trowa even a  _ little _ was a documentary on long extinct Terran wildcats. 

Trowa supposed that there was a  _ reason _ to have seven hundred channels on a television, but he was hard-pressed to figure out what that reason could be. Especially considering the fact that nearly all of the programming was appalling.

So, after finally settling on the wildcat documentary, Trowa made himself a bowl of popcorn and settled on the couch.

Athena, the gray tortoiseshell cat he had found abandoned on an L4 colony two years ago, curled up beside him. She pillowed her head against his thigh and blinked her large, green eyes lazily at the television screen until she fell asleep.

Trowa found himself drifting off as well towards the end of the documentary. The only thing that kept him from falling asleep entirely was the program transitioning to the demise of the wildcats habitats during the Global Atmosphere Crisis that had also spurred the colonization of the moon. It was sobering stuff, and left a slightly sick feeling in his gut as he contemplated just how  _ little _ humanity seemed capable of learning from its past mistakes.

By the time the documentary began to cover the last days of the last captive wildcat, Trowa was starting to contemplate switching the television feed over to the parliamentary session - it would likely only be  _ slightly _ less depressing than the documentary, but still.

He was actually in the act of reaching for the remote when he heard the apartment door open and then close with a swift, angry thud that made him wince.

Maybe he  _ should _ have been watching the parliamentary session, Trowa couldn’t help but think as he listened to the sharp, resounding  _ clack clack clack _ of heels on the hardwood floor.

Athena stirred, standing and stretching in anticipation, but Trowa found himself sitting cautiously still.

Relena walked into the room, still wearing the white satin sash across her torso that the ESUN government decided she should wear at all formal and political occasions.

_ To commemorate your dedication _ , they had said.

_ To make you a target _ , Trowa had thought. Not just for assassinations - but for any unrest or ill will from the public. It was just all too easy to blame the young, beautiful girl in her virginal white sash - all too easy to write her off as naive or superfluous or superficial when she was forced to  _ look _ like that.

She stopped, mid-stride, and stared at Trowa, still seated cross-legged on the couch, the bowl of popcorn nestled between his legs.

“I thought you couldn’t be here until next week.”

Her tone was just as bitter and angry as her walk had been, but she looked shocked, not upset.

“Wrapped up the mission early.”

Relena nodded, every line of muscle in her body tense. She looked towards the television screen, eyebrows lifting at the sight of extinct wildcats romping through grasslands.

Trowa had learned, as a child, that it was better to wait and listen than to blunder into a situation without enough intelligence to come out of it unscathed. It was a lesson that had kept him alive in situations where he really ought to have died, and it was a lesson he had had to use from the very beginning of his relationship with Relena.

He had made the mistake, a few months into their liaison, of 


	13. Untitled 3x5xM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Maevemauvaise. I'm so sorry I never finished it. I loved it so so much.

A/N: A Halloween fic for Maeve and Ro, who both wanted 3x5xM, with Ro requesting “unexpected trick or treating.”

A/N: ALSO, my inspiration for Meilin’s costume is posted on my tumblr page if you want to take a look.

A/N: Thank you, as always, to Ro for the beta reading! And to Maeve, for beta reading and supporting me!

You both are so so amazing and I hope you enjoy!

 

Warnings: language, sex

 

Pairings: 3x5xM, 5xM, (past)5xMx2,(past) 5xMxR

  
  


Title incoming

 

“I think we should ask him out.”

Wufei, leafing through the cookbook and trying to find the recipe for  _ Coq Au Vin _ , looked up at the sound of Meilin’s voice as his wife entered the kitchen.

He found himself staring at her, her statement forgotten and his need to find the recipe evaporated as he looked at her, completely captivated.

It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive and mesmerizing normally - he  _ did _ to an annoyingly distracting extent sometimes - but  _ now. _

_ Now _ she was dressed in a black lace dress that barely covered her thighs and seemed more sheer than solid - with panels of thin black feather fringe that  _ barely _ allowed Wufei to even think of the scrap of fabric as a dress. She was also, he couldn’t help but notice, wearing black heels - and Meilin, a woman who routinely listed high-heeled shoes as among the five worst things the patriarchy had cursed women with,  _ never _ wore heels. She was also wearing black satin gloves that extended past her elbows and a black feather headband.

“What are you wearing?” He finally managed to form a coherent thought after he forced himself to look away from the way the lacy fabric hugged the subtle curve of Meilin’s small breasts.

Meilin’s lips, painted a dark red, curved into a smirk, and he couldn’t help but notice how luminous her eyes were, rimmed with black liner.

“My costume…” She looked him over, from the rolled-up sleeves of his lavender dress shirt, his gray trousers and the black apron he wore over them, and then back to his face and the reading glasses he had perched on his nose. “I’m assuming you aren’t going to dress up after all?”

Wufei gave her an exasperated look. 

“I’m not going to dress up just to hand out toxic waste to children.”

Meilin raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we agreed to hand out the Reese’s Cups instead of the toxic waste.”

Wufei sighed.

“Those  _ are _ the toxic waste. The amount of-”

Meilin groaned and stepped forward, placing one gloved finger over his lips.

“Stop. If I have to hear you launch into yet another tirade about poisonous food, I swear I will just eat Twix for the next year.”

Wufei glared at her.

“You are a surgeon - don’t you care about-”

“Of course I care! But I also believe in moderation,  _ and _ celebration. Let the little hellions gorge themselves on candy one night a year, and I bet they’ll get so sick afterwards that they stay away from it for weeks, if not months.”

Wufei snorted and shook his head in disagreement, but he didn’t pursue the argument - Meilin might not be his equal in a verbal debate, but she was  _ more _ than his match in determination. If he tried to lecture her on the evils of heavily-processed, plastic-wrapped and preservative-coated candy, she would, he was positive, truly spend the next year eating nothing but Twix.

“Anyway,” Meilin stepped back and turned around, looking at him coyly over her shoulder as she spun. “What do you think of my costume?”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for children.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Wufei, for someone as sexually adventurous as you are, you are an incredible prude. I’m hardly showing  _ any _ cleavage-”

“The dress barely covers your ass,” Wufei pointed out.

Meilin ran her hands down to the hem of the dress, her fingers playing with the feathery black fringe and lifting it slowly, tantalizingly, until she revealed a lacy black thong.

Wufei’s fingers practically  _ itched _ to replace Meilin’s.

“I think it covers plenty,” she said, and dropped the hem with another smirk.

Wufei glared at her, but she walked back to him and pressed a light, teasing kiss to his lips. She started to pull away, but Wufei wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, trapping her between the kitchen island and his thighs.

Her dark eyes widened and her lips parted - her anticipation clear - and Wufei allowed himself a smirk of his own as he leaned in close and her eyes fluttered shut.

He passed by her lips, pressing a kiss to her jaw and then working his way down her throat, to her pulse point, where he kissed the skin before licking and then biting at the skittering vein just below.

Meilin made a soft, needy whine, and her fingers curled into his back.

Wufei pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot before moving lower - while he liked to mark Meilin’s sensitive skin and she had always enjoyed being able to trace over the lingering signs of his affection days later,  _ neither _ of them wanted to invite the interest or unwanted comments of their colleagues and neighbors.

He kissed his way across her collarbone and then lower, the feathery fringe of her dress tickling against his chin as he moved towards the v of fabric over her breasts.

Meilin, meanwhile, shifted against him, clearly impatient with Wufei’s slow pace, and he smirked against her skin, kissing it again before pulling back to look at her.

“Yes?” he asked, keeping his voice mild.

“You’re such a cock-tease,” she complained, shifting her hands lower, to his waist, and pulling his body flush to hers.

The feel of his half-hard cock nudging her thighs made her eyes glimmer with satisfaction, and she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth.

Wufei couldn’t help but notice that, in her heels, all she had to do was tilt her head upwards to capture his mouth, instead of her normal war with gravity as she stood on her toes and, usually, grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him halfway to her.

Meilin’s lips were soft, and he was sure her dark lipstick would be smeared all over his mouth after this kiss - another thing they both enjoyed. There had been times when Meilin had left Wufei’s body covered in red, and a few times when Wufei had returned the favor, choosing Meilin’s bloodiest lipstick and decorating her with it from his own lips. 

The hot, teasing dart of her tongue against his lips made Wufei’s cock harder, and he opened his mouth to her in a silent groan. Meilin’s heat and desire filled him, her hands pulling him closer, the slick cavern of her mouth inviting him in.

Wufei shifted his hands downwards, to her barely-covered ass, and lifted her until she sat on the island counter.

The movement and shift in position forced Meilin to end the kiss, and she pulled away from him with a frustrated gasp, glaring down at him until Wufei shifted his hands up to her shoulders and pushed down the thin straps of her dress.

The fabric slid down her arms and her chest easily, pooling in her lap and exposing her breasts to the cool air of the kitchen.

Meilin shivered, but made no move to cover herself, or even to free her arms from the straps that trapped them at her sides.

“You think we should ask who out?” Wufei prompted.

Meilin blinked in confusion, needing a moment to remember what she had been saying before they had gotten so side-tracked.

“Your editor. Trowa. We should invite him over for dinner next week.”

“We should?”

Meilin’s schedule at the hospital meant she had irregular hours, almost always working late into the night, and she and Wufei tried to meet for lunch at least twice a week to make up for the lost time. Four days ago, Wufei had had a lunch meeting with Trowa Barton, his new editor, when one of Meilin’s surgeries had been unexpectedly cancelled and she had joined them for the rest of the lunch.

Trowa, who hadn’t realized Wufei was married until Meilin called him and Wufei had asked if Trowa minded her joining them, had spent the first part of the lunch casually flirting with Wufei. Wufei had enjoyed it, flirting back and letting one of his ankles rest against Trowa’s under the table when the other man shifted his longer legs closer. After Meilin joined them, Trowa had clearly been taken aback, confused by Wufei’s encouragement earlier. It hadn’t been long, however, before Meilin - who, despite being raised by a mother that had actually employed an etiquette tutor and sent Meilin to dance and comportment lessons, refused to actually act like she had grown up in the pristine and gilded halls of an upper west side penthouse - started to eat off first Wufei’s plate, and then, with barely a cursory,  _ may I _ , Trowa’s plate. Trowa had relaxed minutely, slowly, until, by the end of the lunch, he had actually allowed Meilin to flirtatiously kiss his cheek after kissing Wufei full on the lips in farewell.

“Yes,” Meilin said, running her heels over the backs of Wufei’s thighs. “We should ask him over for dinner and invite him to stay for dessert.”

Wufei chuckled.

“And by dessert, you mean invite him to stay the night.”

“Of course.” Meilin gave him a knowing look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about having him fuck you all week? Fantasizing about the two of you fucking  _ me _ . Imagining tasting his cum in my mouth.”

He had. Of course he had. Trowa Barton, in addition to almost instantly proving himself to be ten times the editor that Wufei’s  _ last _ editor had been, was probably one of the sexiest men Wufei had encountered in a long time. From his sharply defined features to his broad shoulders and calculating green eyes to his entirely  _ too _ devastating baritone voice and his confident smirk.

Wufei wrapped one hand around her neck and pulled her head back to his, kissing her again roughly to convey his answer. 

He released her mouth and transferred his attention back to her nipple.

He took the small, hard brown nub between his lips and teeth, biting down immediately, and Meilin cried out in shocked pain even as she wrapped her legs around Wufei’s waist, trapping him against her.

Wufei lifted his head and looked down at the slope of her breast. Her areola were small, barely larger than her nipples, and the angry indentions of his teeth surrounded the darker skin. Sure enough, there was a faint, dark red outline from his lips, from her lipstick, around the mark, and Wufei sighed in pleasure before returning to her nipple, his lips gentle, his tongue soothing her skin before he started to suck.

“Wufei,” Meilin moaned, squirming against him.

“Am I forgetting something?” Wufei asked, not bothering to hide his amusement or his smirk at her impatience.

He switched to her other breast, gathering as much of it into his mouth as he could and raking his teeth over the skin as he slowly released it, until only the nipple was between his teeth. 

Meilin’s entire body went still as she waited for the pain of him biting down, and Wufei heard her draw in a deep, fortifying breath.

He released her, and she sighed in frustration.

“Wufei.”

She was almost begging him.  _ Almost _ .

“If you want something, you’re going to have to ask for it,” he told her, before leaning forward and pressing kisses to her breasts, delighted to see the lipstick on her pale skin.

Meilin, a neurosurgeon who had spent literally her entire life demanding her way and  _ daily _ fought against the prejudices of being a petite Asian woman in a field dominated by white men, wasn’t in any way shy about saying what she wanted or needed.

Except when it came to sex with Wufei, and even then, it wasn’t a matter of being embarrassed - she  _ hated _ giving Wufei the advantage of being in control of her pleasure.

It was a constant battle between them, most of the time, and one that, in the end, they  _ both _ won.

He could  _ feel _ her glaring at the top of his head, and Wufei stood up straight, meeting her irritated gaze and lifting an eyebrow in challenge.

“Wufei,  _ please _ ,” she finally bit out.

Sometimes, most of the time, Wufei made her say more - made her say exactly what she wanted from him, but he could tell she wasn’t really in the mood to play that kind of game.

He ran his right hand over her left thigh, under the fabric of her dress and towards the thong she had teased him with earlier.

Meilin’s breath caught in anticipation, and her thighs fell open, inviting him closer.

Wufei kept his palm on her thigh, but he ran his thumb over the scrap of lace, feeling the wet curls of her pubic hair through the fabric.

Meilin made another keening noise, and Wufei watched as she bit her lip, her small white teeth a sharp contrast to the dark red of her lips. Her eyes fell closed again, and she pressed against him eagerly.

He slipped his thumb under the edge of the lace, pushing it to the side so that he could find the slick opening between her folds. 

“Wufei,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, and then she cried out when he pressed his thumb against her clit.

She wasn’t always this quickly responsive, and Wufei felt confident that she had been thinking about this - had been thinking about  _ him _ while she got dressed in this ridiculous costume to begin with.

He circled her clit with his thumb, drawing another moan from her. The feel of her had his own hard cock straining and leaking pre-cum. Wufei could so easily visualize sliding into her while he fingered her, could practically feel the pressure of her heels digging into his ass while he fucked her, and he had to draw in a deep, steadying breath to keep himself focused.

He stepped away from her, removing his hand, and she cried out in protest.

Wufei just smirked at the fury in her eyes.

“Lie back,” he instructed, and Meilin gave an irritated huff but complied, her irritation fading away instantly when he replaced his thumb with his tongue.

“Oh - oh, Wufei,” she sighed in pleasure as he laved at her clit with his tongue and traced her labia with his fingers.

He sucked on her, drawing the tender flesh into his mouth, and she moved against him, rocking forward in pleasure and eagerness.

She shouldn’t have been, but she was completely taken off-guard when he bit down, gently, but hard enough that she cried out and shuddered.

“Please, oh,  _ please, _ Wufei. Do it again. Harder, I-”

He complied, sucking harder and then biting again, and she cried out again. He could feel her thigh muscles clench in anticipation, and knew that she was close already - she  _ had _ to have been fantasizing about this earlier, had to have been thinking about Wufei eating her out and fucking her. Had to-

The doorbell rang.

He ignored it, moving his fingers to thrust inside of Meilin while he gentled his suction on her clit, teasing her with the change in pressure.

It rang again, followed by the reedy, high-pitched voices of children chorusing.

_ “Trick or treat!” _

Meilin cried out - this time not from Wufei’s ministrations.

“No!”

Wufei had to laugh, and he moved his head to bite the inside of her thigh before standing up straight.

“You’re the one who wanted to do this,” he reminded her.

Meilin stubbornly continued to lay on the island, her legs splayed wide, her dress just a twist of black lace around her waist, completely exposing her breasts and her groin to Wufei’s regretful gaze.

It had surprised him, when Meilin came home two days ago, exhausted after performing a sixteen hour surgery, her arms laden with bags of candy and a ridiculously large plastic jack-o-lantern, insisting that they  _ would _ be giving out candy this year.

Meilin didn’t hate children,though they both agreed that  _ they _ didn’t want any, and Meilin preferred that they either be anesthetized on a surgical gurney or in someone else’s arms, far out of reach. Wufei hadn’t bothered to ask  _ why _ Meilin wanted to participate in such a pedestrian event, and he hadn’t needed to.

Their neighbors, Alice and James Bickford, had just had their  _ third _ child two months ago, and couldn’t resist sending out photos of all three children in their potential Halloween costumes, using the HOA mailing list to poll the neighborhood on the costumes  _ instead _ of using it to discuss the very real problem of their damn dog getting into the recycling bins and wrecking havoc.

While the neighborhood was fairly diverse - Treize and Zechs had been the first to welcome Wufei and Meilin to their street two years ago, while Dorothy and Hilde had actually helped, or rather taken over, Wufei’s attempts to put in a porch swing last year, and Wufei and Meilin were hardly the only people of color - it  _ was _ a very family-oriented neighborhood. They were the only couple without children, and at every single neighborhood event, Meilin was interrogated about  _ when _ she would be popping out a child and Wufei was the target of pointed, envious comments about the joys of  _ not _ waking up at three in the morning to change a diaper.

While neither Meilin or Wufei had budged on their feelings about children, Wufei could tell that the constant haranguing was getting to his wife, and while it amused him that she had decided to actually participate in the neighborhood Halloween festivities this year, he was smart enough not to comment.

The doorbell rang yet again.

“They are so fucking determined,” Meilin complained, before finally sliding off the counter and setting her clothes to rights.

She picked up the jack o-lantern full of candy and started out of the kitchen, but Wufei grabbed her gloved arm and pulled her back to him, kissing her once again, holding the contact until she softened against him and her mouth opened to him.

“As soon as that thing is empty, we’re turning off the porch light and finishing this,” he assured her.

She smirked at him as she stepped away, dark eyes glittering once again, and Wufei had to smirk himself.

He listened to her open the door and, in her so  _ very _ fake enthusiastic voice, ask the children what costumes they were wearing.

Mournfully, he looked down at his still hard cock tenting the front of his trousers, and the dark stain of precum that had leaked through.

“Later,” he promised himself.

 

-o-

 

After two hours of hearing the doorbell ring every two to seven minutes, followed by Meilin’s irritated groans and the sound of her tossing the book she was futilely trying to read between trick or treaters down onto the coffee table, dinner was finally ready.

Of course, the jack-o-lantern was still half-full - and Meilin had started to grumble about just dumping the whole thing into the next kid’s bag - and the meal was anything but peaceful.

Wufei himself was starting to grow irritated - not at Meilin, but at the world in general. His wife  _ never _ got to relax, between surgeries, research and travelling for conferences. The fact that she was spending her one night off this week running back and forth between the couch, dining room and front door was absurd.

She had glared at him, however, when he offered to take over passing out the candy, insisting that she was fully capable of this kind of domestic chore.

So Wufei just poured both of them very tall glasses of wine and tried his best to keep her food warm while he ate his own.

While it wasn’t a sore spot for  _ them _ , it was a source of tension between Meilin and her parents, Wufei and his own, and between both of them and judgemental acquaintances that Meilin had a career that easily kept her working sixty or more hours a week while Wufei’s work allowed him to stay home.

They had met during medical school at Johns Hopkins, spending the first year trying desperately to one up each other in every test and lab until realizing that, while one of them might get superior marks on something, they were each other’s equals in almost every way. After medical school, Meilin was offered a residency in Boston and Wufei, who had only gone to medical school to appease his parents and whose true passion was writing, followed her to Boston and began work on his first novel. 

Their parents were, predictably, horrified. Meilin’s mother had only encouraged her to attend Johns Hopkins in the first place because it would be prime husband hunting grounds - the concept of her daughter actually becoming a surgeon seemed impossible for her to wrap her head around. Wufei’s parents, meanwhile, nearly cut him off financially when they learned that he had turned down every residency he had been offered and, instead of following in his father’s footsteps and becoming an orthopedic surgeon, was using his world-class education to write medical-crime fiction.

It wasn’t until Wufei’s first book was published, until it became an instant best-seller, that Wufei’s mother stopped her weekly phone calls berating him for ‘killing’ his father and instead started to ask when he and Meilin would get married and when they would have children.

Left to their own devices, Meilin and Wufei would probably have never married. It had nothing to do with commitment - they were devoted to each other, and Wufei found it impossible to even entertain the notion of sharing his life with another person the way he did with Meilin. 

However, Meilin was offered first a fellowship and then an attending position at the Presbyterian University Hospital of Columbia, and her colleagues started to drop hints about the board wanting their top surgeons to be settled, to be ambassadors who could wine and dine donors. After two years of the pointed comments and after seeing three of her colleagues - each her inferior - promoted and given raises above her, Meilin had come home one night and asked Wufei to marry her.

Their parents had been ecstatic - though both Wufei and Meilin’s mothers expressed concern over the fact that, at thirty-two, there was a clock quickly running down on when they could start a family.

The wedding had also resulted in their  _ only _ vacation lasting more than two days. Meilin’s superiors, only too happy that their rising star was finally playing their game, gave her one month of vacation time for their honeymoon, and she and Wufei spent it Barcelona, where they had met Duo.

The American ex-pat was hardly the first person they had invited into their bed. From the start, Wufei had been very open about his own bisexuality, and Meilin had been the one to pick up a complete stranger at a bar one night and bring him home. Wufei was positive that the first time, and likely the first few times, Meilin had done it simply to prove that she could - she refused to be afraid of or intimidated by anything. However, it quickly became apparent that Meilin enjoyed the dynamic of a third person in their relationship, at least as far as sex went. When they first moved to New York after six years of Meilin’s residency in Boston, they met Relena Darlian, the first woman Meilin seemed at all interested in, and she became a steady bed-mate for two years before she moved to Paris.

It wasn’t until Duo, however, that both Meilin and Wufei realized that perhaps having a third partner might be good for more than just incredibly fulfilling sex. 

They met him on their second day in Barcelona, when some kid stole Wufei’s wallet and Duo chased him down, ruffled his hair and flipped him a coin before securing the return of the wallet. They had taken him out to dinner that night, but he had gently turned down their invitation to go back to their hotel room and had instead suggested he take them sailing the next day. It had taken a week of  _ dating _ Duo - of getting to know him and exploring Barcelona and the coast together, before Duo had kissed Meilin and, grinning wickedly, asked if the invitation to go to their hotel was still on the table.

_ Dating _ had never really occurred to Meilin and Wufei as something they should try - but after Duo, after a week of courting him and then three weeks of enjoying him in and out of bed, they had realized that a triad could mean so much more than sex.

Of course, after two years of marriage, they had yet to find anyone  _ close _ to Duo in terms of compatibility with them, and had instead gone back to a string of short-term lovers.

A string that would likely -  _ hopefully _ \- now be decorated with Trowa Barton. 

As Wufei cleaned up the half-eaten meal - Meilin had had to abandon hers entirely, and Wufei simply hadn’t felt the desire to finish his own after that - he contemplated just calling up his editor to see if he was busy that evening.

He abandoned the plan as too forward - Meilin’s plan to invite him over for dinner first was much better.

The doorbell rang yet again, and Wufei winced at Meilin’s muttered cursing in the next room.

He made a mental note to ask Dorothy how to change out the doorbell - he felt confident neither he or Meilin would want to hear  _ this _ particular ring ever again.

“Wufei, darling, look who came trick or treating.”

Meilin hadn’t asked him to come out and see a single trick or treater all night - only telling him  _ after _ they had left which neighbors had already come by. Maybe it was Treize, Zechs and their son Heero?

Wufei wiped off his hands on a kitchen towel and removed the apron he realized he had neglected to take off earlier before walking out of the kitchen and into the foyer.

Meilin was leaning against the open frame of the door, and as he walked up behind her, Wufei could see a  _ lot _ of fluffy pink fabric beyond her.

He stepped up to her side, sliding an arm around her waist, and got a closer look.

Two red haired girls, perhaps seven or eight years old, stood on the front porch dressed as some kind of pink princesses. They were cute, and vaguely familiar-looking.

“Cathy’s girls,” Meilin supplied for him when Wufei lifted an eyebrow in question.

Catherine Bloom, the single mother one street over who seemed to have made it a personal vendetta to argue with James and Alice Bickford at every single HOA meeting - which Wufei appreciated on one hand, but resented on the other because that was  _ his _ vendetta.

Wufei looked beyond the yards and yards of pink tulle, but he didn’t see Catherine standing on the sidewalk waiting for the girls.

Instead, he saw a tall, broad- shouldered man wearing a gold frock coat, a crown and sash to match, white tights and tall black boots.

Wufei stared, admiring the man’s thighs and trim waist and - he took a second look at his face.

“Trowa?”

The man stepped closer to the porch, the light spilling over him and illuminating his features more clearly.

“Wufei,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk.

“Trowa takes his nieces trick or treating every year,” Meilin told Wufei, saving him from gracelessly asking what Trowa was doing there. “And he always dresses up like a prince for them,” Meilin added, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“How charming.”

Trowa’s lips twitched.

The girls started to shift, clearly ready to move on now that they had secured their loot.

“We have a few more houses to visit before I drop them back off,” Trowa said, taking each girl by the hand.

It was clear that he was fishing for an invitation to return.

“Well,” Meilin leaned against Wufei’s side, lacing her fingers into his by her waist. “If you want to stop by for a night cap after you’ve returned your princesses to their castle, I’m sure Wufei and I will still be up.”

Trowa’s clear green gaze met first Meilin’s and then Wufei’s. 

“I would love to.”

 

-o-

 

By 10:45, there was no sign of Trowa, and Meilin had fallen asleep on the couch.

Wufei, after unsuccessfully trying to convince a not-entirely awake Meilin to go to bed upstairs, tucked a blanket around her and turned off the front porch light.

He was disappointed - Trowa had seemed genuinely interested. Had, in fact, been the one who seemed to  _ want _ the invitation to come over.

Of course, it wasn’t only Trowa’s no-show that had Wufei disappointed - but the idea of the other man joining them had inspired Meilin and Wufei to put off returning to their pre-Trick or Treating activities until Trowa came back.

Frustrated about  _ both _ , Wufei wasn’t the least bit tired himself, and settled in on the opposite end of the couch from Meilin with his laptop and started to write.

It was 11:30 when Wufei’s phone lit up with an incoming text.

**I’m so sorry. Tonight was a disaster. The girls ate too much candy and got sick-**

**And there is absolutely no way you want any details beyond that.**

**Unless your book is taking a new direction.**

Despite himself, Wufei felt his lips curve up at the sight of Trowa’s name on the contact flag, and at the text itself.

Wufei typed in a response.

**It sounds like you really could have used that nightcap.**

Trowa’s response was instant.

**No kidding. I’d probably have to use half of your alcohol supply just to sanitize my hands, and the other half to drown out my memories of tonight.**

He probably should just let Trowa’s words, his complaints about his nieces, remain just that. But…

**Meilin and I aren’t usually in the habit of taking advantage of sexy, drunk men. We generally like our conquests to** **_remember_ ** **us in the morning.**

The bubble ellipse took much longer to appear and then to resolve into a text this time, and Wufei wondered if perhaps he had been too blunt.

**I’m pretty sure THOSE memories aren’t the kind I would ever want to drown out.**

**Any chance for a raincheck?**

Smirking in satisfaction, Wufei typed in his response.

**We would love to have you for dinner next week.**

Not missing a beat, Trowa responded.

**As a guest or the entree?**

Wufei laughed out loud and, next to him, Meilin shifted in her sleep and scowled.

**I was thinking dessert might be more appropriate, but I’m very flexible with the menu.**

He was enjoying picturing Trowa splayed out on the kitchen table, stained red with lipstick, naked and straining for relief under Wufei and Meilin’s ministrations. Wufei would love to see Trowa’s calm, collected composure shattered, and he wondered just how easy - or how difficult - it would be to have the man begging to be fucked.

**And Meilin?**

Wufei had to snort in amusement.

**Meilin only sets foot in the kitchen when she’s starving or trying to distract me. She won’t care if you’re an aperitif or the main course, so long as she has you.**

Wufei could all-too easily  _ hear _ Meilin saying exactly that.

**Then I will try not to disappoint again - and hopefully, I’ll have the stamina to last six courses for the two of you to enjoy.**

Wufei looked at the calendar app he and Meilin shared. While her schedule always had a certain amount of flexibility because of emergent patients, most of her surgeries were scheduled weeks or months in advance.

**How is Tuesday at eight?**

It took a moment for Trowa to text back.

**Perfect. Should I bring white or red wine with me?**

Meilin had  _ never _ cared to pair wine with food - yet another source of horror for her mother - and Wufei wasn’t sure what, exactly, he would make for the dinner. Assuming, of course, that they ate actual food at all. That thought had Wufei smirking again.

**Champagne would probably pair best. Nothing too dry.**

 

-o-

 

Growing up, Wufei had continuously baffled his parents.

While he  _ could _ excel at athletics, he preferred to study or write.

While he  _ could _ make friends, he preferred to isolate himself.

While he  _ could _ go out and cause mischief, he preferred to stay home.

His father had, for years, been convinced that Wufei was gay. 

Wufei hadn’t dated much in high school, and the first girl he brought home for his parents to meet had been during his sophomore year in college. Wufei’s father had actually hugged the girl, and then Wufei.

And while, of course, Wufei  _ was _ bisexual and had actually spent the better part of his freshmen year in an annoyingly complicated not-really-friends with benefits relationship with his male biology lab partner, what had really worried Wufei’s father about his son’s sexuality was Wufei’s enjoyment of cooking. 

Some of Wufei’s earliest memories were of helping his grandmother in the kitchen, and Wufei’s mother - a woman who had devoted most of her energy to becoming as white-bread American as she possibly could after immigrating in her teens to the United States - had been all-too happy to teach her only child how to make shake and bake chicken. 

For his sixteenth birthday, his mother had given him Julia Child’s  _ Mastering the Art of French Cooking, _ and Wufei’s father had looked on in horror. 

His father hadn’t been the only one who found Wufei’s enjoyment of cooking questionable - the same girl that he brought home his sophomore year had constantly rolled her eyes and made sarcastic comments about Wufei wanting to be barefoot in the kitchen. 

The first time that Wufei had invited Meilin over to his apartment for dinner, on their fourth date, Meilin had sighed in relief.

“Thank god you can cook - live-in chefs are so creepy,” had been her only comment until  _ after _ the meal, when she sat on a stool and watched him store the leftovers while finishing off a glass of wine.

“This isn’t some kind of  _ Hannibal _ fixation, is it? You aren’t going to turn out to be a serial killer, are you?” 

And while, over the years, Meilin  _ did _ tease Wufei about his need to fix the  _ perfect _ meal, she never derided him for wanting to cook, or wanting to cook well. 

On Tuesday morning, as Wufei prepared the marinade for the pork tenderloin he had planned for the evening meal, Meilin walked into the kitchen and dipped her finger into the open jar of apricot preserves.

Wufei gave her a look, but Meilin just sucked her finger clean and then leaned close to kiss him.

“You made this last New Year’s, didn’t you?” she asked him. “For that insufferably long party that James and Alice hosted?”

Wufei nodded, surprised that she remembered - Meilin, while always complimentary of his cooking, seemed to take as much pleasure in eating from a corner food cart in Manhattan as she did from eating one of Wufei’s meticulously-prepared meals.

_ He _ , of course, remembered all too well. Alice had actually asked Wufei if this was a ‘native’ recipe from his homeland. 

Meilin, standing beside him, had snorted in amusement.

“I think Charleston is better known for its seafood - and I seriously doubt your mother  _ ever _ made anything that involved more than five ingredients - no offense to her. I don’t cook anything with more than two ingredients.”

“You don’t cook at  _ all _ ,” Wufei had corrected her, grateful for her intervention - for her jibe at Alice’s racism, but also her ability to diffuse the situation.

“It was good,” Meilin said now, as she walked past him to pour herself a cup of coffee. “But doesn’t it have peanut butter in the marinade?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Mm.” She took a sip of her coffee and leaned against the counter.

“What?” he demanded.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it will be perfect and delicious.”

“ _ But _ ?” Wufei growled, knowing that superior look on her face all too well.

“But… I seem to recall that at the party, everyone enjoyed the dish immensely - except for Hilde, because she tries to keep to a kosher diet despite the fact that Dorothy is obsessed with bacon. And except for-”

“Catherine,” Wufei realized. Catherine Bloom, Trowa’s sister, who hadn’t known there was peanut butter in the marinade, and had, after eating just a few bites, suffered an intense allergic reaction and needed an epi-pen injection.

“Shit.” He stared at all of the ingredients on the counter. He hadn’t even thought to  _ ask _ Trowa if he was allergic to peanut butter.

Meilin pressed a kiss to his cheek, and ran her left hand down his back before squeezing his ass.

“Better text him. A trip to the emergency room tonight might be fun for  _ me, _ but it’s not going to go well with your plan to sodomize a man while he eats out your wife.”

“Sodomize?” Wufei smirked at her.

“Mhm. I’ve always liked the way that words sounds.”

“You’ve also always liked the way it  _ feels _ ,” he reminded her.

“That too,” she agreed, as she shrugged on her leather jacket and dumped the rest of her coffee into a travel mug.

“Dinner is at eight,” he reminded her for the fifth time that morning.

Meilin rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I  _ know _ \- and I have two alarms set on my phone to remind me. I won’t be late.”

He stared at her. 

“I promise. All I have today is an ablation surgery for my Parkinson’s patient, and I should be finished with that by five - six at the latest. Plenty of time to make it home on time.”

“If you’re late, I’ll have to start sodomizing him without you,” Wufei threatened. 

Meilin smirked.

“That almost makes me  _ want _ to be late - I’d love to walk in and see him bent over your desk while you fuck him.”

The mental image was fairly appealing to Wufei as well, and he looked past the kitchen and into the library, where his writing desk was in easy view. It was, he knew from past experiences of bending Meilin over it, the perfect height. 

“Stop thinking about his ass, and text him to make sure you aren’t going to poison him,” Meilin ordered as she walked out of the kitchen. “I love you,” she called over her shoulder as she opened the front door, closing it before he could respond.

Wufei cleaned off his hands and reached for his phone to text Trowa.

**Please tell me you aren’t as deathly allergic to peanut butter as your sister.**

While he waited for Trowa’s response, Wufei poured the remaining coffee into the mug Meilin had abandoned and prepared it with milk and sugar to his taste. He wasn’t sure how or  _ why _ Meilin liked to drink her coffee black, but he had long ago given up fighting her on the matter. She would go to her - early, he was sure - grave convinced that sugar and milk  _ ruined _ coffee.

It was another fifteen minutes before Trowa replied.

**If you’re planning on putting it all over my body, I would like to request that you consider almond butter instead, but only because I read an article about it being good for your pores. I’m not at all allergic to peanut butter.**

Wufei snorted in amusement.

**It’s for the marinade, not for your body. But I will keep the almond oil on hand if you want me to.**

He and Meilin had used almond oil as a lubricant for years, ever since Meilin got tired of Wufei pointing out the danger of all of the parabens and other chemicals in store-bought personal lubricants. 

Of course, they also didn’t need to use condoms when it was just the two of them having sex. 

**Would it be presumptuous to ask if you have polyurethane condoms or if I need to get some?**

Considering just how blatantly Wufei and Trowa had been flirting about sex, he didn’t think it was presumptuous at all. But he  _ did _ appreciate the question.

**We should have enough on hand.**

Now that he knew Trowa wouldn’t  _ die _ if he followed the marinade recipe, Wufei moved back to the kitchen island and continued to prepare it.  He wanted to let the pork tenderloin sit in the mixture for as long as possible before he roasted it in the oven.

**I’m not sure how to ask this except bluntly, but what are your plans for me tonight? What boundaries do you and Meilin have?**

It was a question that Wufei or Meilin rarely had their lovers ask. Relena had asked, had teasingly stroked Meilin’s body while asking her what she was allowed to do, how she was allowed to touch them. Duo had also asked, that first night when he finally came back to their hotel, had stood naked and unsure by the foot of the bed and asked what the  _ rules _ were. 

Perhaps, Wufei had to reflect, there was something to the fact that the only relationships of any length he and Meilin had had with a third partner were the two where their partners had tried to learn the lay of the land instead of blundering ahead.

**Our plans for tonight are to enjoy your company, as intimately as you feel comfortable. Meilin’s feet are extremely ticklish and she tends to lash out without thinking when tickled, so unless you enjoy a certain amount of sharp, intense pain, I would recommend you avoid tickling her. She enjoys performing oral sex, but does hates the sensation of choking. I also enjoy performing oral sex, but I prefer to top during sex. Being a bottom is not a hard no for me, but it is not my first choice either. Meilin occasionally enjoys being blindfolded, but she does not like to be tied up. I, on the other hand, enjoy both. Meilin enjoys pain, but she draws the line at breaking the skin - as do I.**

Wufei set down his phone and bagged the pork tenderloin and marinade together before putting it in the refrigerator.

He was nearly done washing the cutting board and mixing bowls when he received Trowa’s response.

**That was surprisingly thorough. Thank you** .

Wufei sighed and dried his hands off.

**And your boundaries?**

He had noticed, in his working relationship with Trowa, that the other man tended to acquiesce to the demands of others very easily. Or at least, to Wufei’s demands. On their very first meeting, in Trowa’s office, Wufei had flat-out refused to send Trowa daily writing updates - as requested by the publisher - and Trowa had just blinked and then assured Wufei that he would tell the publisher they were unnecessary. When Wufei had also balked at the deadlines, Trowa had likewise immediately agreed to push them back. Of course, Trowa  _ had _ ended the meeting with the suggestion that he and Wufei meet weekly for coffee, as a compromise to the daily updates.

He wasn’t a push-over, Wufei was certain, but Trowa certainly seemed content to be told what to do.

While Wufei could appreciate that - and was even excited by the prospect of a partner who wanted to be dominated, at least a little - he also didn’t want Trowa to go into this prepared to do things he didn’t enjoy.

**I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t have quite as much self-knowledge as you and Meilin. I’m not… entirely sure what my boundaries are.**

Wufei scowled. While he was very aware that he and Meilin were more open about their sex life, and more comfortable with discussing it, he often found it frustrating how many people around them  _ weren’t _ . He also didn’t like the implication that Trowa probably didn’t know when or how to say  _ no _ .

**Then, tonight, you will simply need to tell us to stop whenever you are uncomfortable. And ask whenever you want something else or something more.**

He almost wanted to text Meilin, to give her a warning, but he had learned the very, very uncomfortably hard way never to text Meilin anything private at work. She almost always handed her phone over to an intern or resident, instructing them to ignore all calls from her mother and to read her Wufei’s texts out loud if she was in the middle of a procedure or unable to read them herself. The result of Wufei’s first - and  _ only _ \- attempt to send Meilin a text about his plans for her when she finished at the hospital had resulted in incredibly awkward holiday party introductions. Meilin, who didn’t give a damn that her colleagues now knew her husband used a vibrator on her while simultaneously  _ sodomizing _ her, had smirked when she introduced Wufei to the surgeons and residents who had been in the operating room to hear the text. She had  _ laughed _ at their red faces and mumbled greetings, had dared anyone to even lift an eyebrow at her.

And as much as she really didn’t seem to care, Wufei  _ did _ care about the prospect of Meilin’s colleagues conjecturing about her private life, and had kept his texts entirely mundane since then.

Texting Meilin to let her know that the man they intended to fuck that night was surprisingly virginal would definitely go against that rule.

**Thank you. And I’m sorry that I don’t meet your expectations.**

Wufei sighed as he responded to Trowa’s text.

**There is no need to apologize, and the only expectation we have is that you communicate. And show up at 8pm with champagne. And now that you’ve ensured I will spend the entire day thinking about discovering just what you enjoy tonight, I need to get to work. Since SOMEONE keeps sending me emails about an approaching deadline.**

Wufei finished his coffee and rinsed out the mug before checking his phone again, and Trowa’s response made him smirk.

**You aren’t the only one who will spend the day thinking about that. I’m in the middle of editing a children’s book, and the line “What do you want for dinner?” did NOT sound like innuendo until just now.**

 

-0-

  
  


“It smells wonderful.”

Wufei sighed and looked away from the wall clock - it was 8:30 - and to Trowa.

The tall man looked, as usual, sexy as hell. He wore a navy shawl collared sweater over a forest green button up shirt, and a pair of fitted khakis that made his long legs seem even longer. 

He looked casual and confident, and Wufei would have even  _ believed _ Trowa felt that way if the man wasn’t finishing off his second glass of wine.

“Thank you,” he responded to Trowa’s compliment. “Hopefully, it won’t start to smell like a burnt, ruined roast soon.”

Trowa’s lips twitched, but he took another sip of wine instead of commenting.

Wufei, having lived with Meilin for a decade, had known not to plan on his wife arriving at home right at 8:00. He had, however, thought she would be there by 8:30.

He was reminded of his birthday, four years ago, when Relena had cooked for them at her apartment and Wufei had arrived on time, and Meilin… Meilin had been pulled into an emergency surgery, and Wufei hadn’t seen her until almost two days later when she was finally able to come home to shower before going back to the hospital to check on her patients.

Of course, by that point, Meilin and Wufei had been involved with Relena for more than six months, and while it wasn’t the birthday either Meilin or Relena had planned for him, Wufei had still had an excellent meal cooked by someone other than himself  _ and _ a long night of playful sex with Relena.

Tonight… well, tonight would  _ not _ end the same way. 

While Meilin had spent time alone with their shared lovers, and so had Wufei, they  _ had _ agreed from the start to  _ share _ lovers - adding a third partner to their bed wasn’t about creating new relationships separate from their marriage, but instead adding a new layer to their existing relationship  _ together _ .

If Meilin wasn’t able to come home tonight, Wufei would  _ not _ sleep with Trowa that night. 

That night or, Wufei had a feeling, ever. 

He looked at the other man as he fiddled with his empty glass, and Wufei lifted the bottle of wine.

“Would you like another glass?”

Trowa frowned slightly, and hesitated for a moment before shaking his head in the negative.

“No, I’ve already had a bit much,” he said, and offered Wufei a rueful smile.

Wufei was relieved that Trowa had declined more wine - he could understand Trowa feeling nervous and wanting to take the edge off, but if the man had felt the need to be  _ drunk _ to go forward with the evening’s plans, it would have put an end to any potential sex just as easily as Meilin’s absence. 

“Water?” Wufei offered instead, and Trowa nodded.

“Please.”

As Wufei poured both of them glasses, his cell phone rang.

It was the ringtone assigned to Meilin, and Wufei immediately answered the call.

“There was an emergency,” Meilin said by way of greeting. “Just as I was finishing up with my Parkinson’s patient, I got the page - some idiot on a motorcycle got into a wreck and-”

“Let me guess, no helmet?”

Meilin snorted derisively.

“Of course, no helmet. Why on earth would anyone want to protect their  _ brain _ ?”

Wufei smirked at her tone.

“What happened?”

“Oh, well, he ran into an SUV and went flying fifteen feet before landing  _ on _ a  street sign. He  _ impaled _ himself on the sign.”

Wufei frowned as he tried to visualize it.

“Impaled himself where?”

“Forehead - I’m shocked the impact didn’t damage his spinal cord.”

“He impaled his  _ head _ on a street sign?” Wufei repeated, shocked and extremely jealous.

Trowa, he noticed, was leaning against the island counter and smirking at Wufei. He looked amused and relaxed for the first time all evening.

“Yes,” Meilin was enthusiastic. Wufei could  _ hear _ her adrenaline. “I had to do almost an entire lobotomy on his frontal lobe - I was able to try that transverse graft technique out - “

“Did it hold?”  Merlin had been toying with this new approach for months now, researching it and perfecting it. It could, if it was successful, have a major impact on neurosurgery.

“So far. It was amazing, Wufei. The vessels immediately - I have the films. I’ll bring them home with me, and we can watch the entire procedure over dinner.”

Wufei had to chuckle.

“I’m not sure Trowa would be up for watching your surgical videos over dinner. It might put him off the food.”

Wufei looked over to Trowa, who was still amused as he inclined his head in agreement.

“Shit. Oh,f fuck  _ me _ . Wufei , I am so sorry. I -”

It was not the first time Meilin had forgotten a date or important event during her day at work. 

She had forgotten about their anniversary dinner last year, hosted by his parents, and only arrived thirty minutes late  _ after _ Wufei had texted her a reminder. His mother had been furious, making petty, sniping comments about priorities and responsibilities during the entireall meal, until Wufei finally told her that Meilin’s priority of  _ saving lives _ and her responsibility to her patients were the things that he loved most about her. 

“Look, I just need to go update the family on the idiot, and then I will be out of here. I will be home in an hour at the most - eat without me. I’m so sorry, Wufei. Just - don’t let him leave. Tie him down if you have to, but I  _ will _ be there. I love you.”

She ended the call, and Wufei could only stare at the phone in bemusement.

Trowa arched an eyebrow. Wufei wasn’t sure how much of Meilin’s side of the conversation he had overheard.

“She’s on her way - she said to go ahead and eat without her.”

Trowa nodded, and then frowned slightly before sighing and running a hand through his hair, upsetting his bangs and sending them falling over his left eye.

“If this - perhaps  _ this _ isn’t -”

“Trowa,  _ we _ both want this. But if you don’t, if you are uncomfortable or uninterested -”

“Of course I’m interested,” Trowa snorted, “But…” he sighed again. “I’ve never done something like this. I’ve never been with a married couple before. This dynamic… I’ve honestly never felt this out of my depth before.”

Wufei nodded. He could appreciate that - and he imagined it wasn’t all that easy for Trowa to even admit that in the first place.

“We’ve been told before that we can be a bit… a bit overwhelming,” Wufei said, before turning away from Trowa to start plating their meal.

Duo had called them  _ unfucking believably intense, _ while Relena used to laugh and say that  _ they _ were the reason the French called orgasms  _ le petit mort _ .

“So you’ve… done this before?”

“Yes. Although, it’s been...nearly eight months since we invited someone into our bed.”

“Oh.”

Wufei looked over his shoulder at Trowa, who had once again lost his equilibrium.

“Trowa.”

The other man met his gaze.

“I have a better working relationship with you than I’ve had with  _ any _ editor I’ve ever worked with. My work is very important to me - and my  _ work _ relationship with you is something that I want to preserve. However, I would be 

  
  



	14. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From my 31 Days of Smut for March 2015.
> 
> This is one of a few I've found that I started and never finished.
> 
> It's long, it's a 1x2xR, and I'm not at all fair to Wufei and for that I offer lots of apologies. Ro, my most fabulous beta reader, has suggested that Wufei was doing it as a front so that he could get out of arranged dates - so let's go with that?

A/N: Luvsanime02 requested a 1x2xR “surprise visit” themed fic.

A/N 2: I live for reviews. Even if it’s just “loved it” - every review makes my day and inspires me to write more.

A/N 3: Thank you to Luvsanime02 for beta reading this, and all the things.

 

Warnings: smut, language, fluff, angst, AU

Pairings: 1x2xR

  
  


_ March 8, 2015: Happy Birthday _

  
  


Birthdays, Relena couldn’t help but think, were shit.

As soon as you were old enough to care about things other than what flavor of birthday cake you got - chocolate cake, chocolate frosting  _ always _ \- then you were old enough to realize that getting older was as inevitable as it was awful.

Relena had been fifteen when birthdays had been forever ruined for her - funny how seeing her father die in a terrorist attack had done that - and ever since, she has dreaded the change of the calendar from March to April. 

Of course, this year, not only was April 7th a reminder of her father’s death, but it was that most dreaded of birthdays - her 30th. 

Relena woke up early that morning - earlier even than usual - and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for the unavoidable call from her mother.

She had tried, in years previously, to not answer when her mother called to wish her happy birthday. But then she kept calling - if Relena didn’t answer at eight, then her mother called at nine, then ten, then eleven, and every  _ hour _ on the hour until Relena finally answered. One year, Relena had held off until nine at night, and had then had to spend two hours comforting her mother, assuring her that Relena loved her, that she was a wonderful mother, that everything was fine.

Her mother, remarried for thirteen years now and happy to be the arm candy for some Hollywood producer, meant well. Relena knew that. But listening to her go on and on about the coterie of eligible young men in Los Angeles, the wrinkles she had seen around Relena’s eyes in the most recent photo she had sent, the way Relena’s clothes seemed too tight or too big and had she gained weight, the wonders and sheer joy of being married to a man who  - in addition to not being dead - treated her like a queen. Relena loved her mother - she did. But it was very, very hard to like her on April 7th.

After half an hour of glaring at her ceiling, Relena forced herself to get out of bed and get ready for the day - laying in bed all day and wishing it wasn’t April 7th would not change the fact that it  _ was _ April 7th after all.

She showered, she took the time to curl her hair and, after applying her makeup, she pasted on a smile and took a photo of herself and posted it on Facebook - last year, when Relena had  _ not _ done that, it had been the first thing her mother said when she called, had been the start of a fifteen-minute dissection of Relena’s faults, and she absolutely did not want a repeat of that this year.

Of course, her efforts to head off a lecture from her mother also, predictably, had the result of providing her ammunition for a  _ new _ direction to critique Relena from.

When her mother called at eight, Relena drew a deep breath, finished her coffee, and answered the phone.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Oh, happy birthday, my darling girl! I was so happy to see your face this morning - your hair just looks wonderful, and you’re using that new Chanel blush, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Relena cautiously agreed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“It looks so perfect on you - I knew that color would suit you. It’s so nice to see you making an effort - you are so beautiful when you try, dearest.”

Relena knew her mother was waiting for a thank you, waiting for an acknowledgement of her  _ compliment, _ but it was all Relena could do to keep silent, close her eyes and mentally count to ten.

“Is there some special occasion today?” her mother continued after an awkward pause.

Relena frowned and glared at her phone.

“My birthday?”

“No, no, of  _ course _ there’s that, but I just so rarely see you put effort into your appearance - honestly, how a daughter of mine thinks chapstick and  _ brown _ eyeshadow are all she needs is-”

“Mother, I-”

“But what I  _ meant _ , dearest, is do you have a date tonight? Or even for lunch? Someone special to celebrate the day with?”

Relena sighed. 

“No, Mother, I don’t.”

“Relena, darling, what happened to Quatre?”

“We broke up three months ago, Mother, when he realized he would rather sleep with his personal trainer than with me.”

“Oh.” Her mother was silent, and Relena could practically  _ hear _ her revising her battle strategy.

“Well, I bet  _ she _ took the time to put on makeup and always look her best for-”

“Mother, she is a  _ he, _ and I don’t think either Trowa or Quatre care whether or not a girl is wearing the Chanel blush that is just so perfect on her.”

Her mother was silent for a long, excruciating moment, and then Relena heard a sniffle.

“Mother-”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

Relena rolled her eyes. Of  _ course _ her mother was fine - that didn’t mean she wouldn’t turn this into a huge guilt trip for Relena, though.

“I just- I just want to see my baby girl happy, and it seems that I can never say or do the right thing for you, Relena. You are always ready to be sarcastic or-”

“Mom, I love you. I do. And I  _ am _ happy.”

Her mother huffed in disbelief.

“Happy? You work awful hours, you live in an apartment the size of a closet, you are thirty and you still aren’t even  _ engaged _ , Relena. I’m terrified you’re going to end up alone and miserable, and I do not want that for you, dearest. I know- I know what it feels like to be alone, Relena. I do not want that for you.”

Relena had to actually bite down on her own tongue to keep from snapping back at her mother. Her mother, who had been  _ alone _ for all of seven months before she started dating Harold the producer. Her mother, who had had Relena there by her side, ready with tissues and valium and vodka. Her mother, who had never had a  _ job _ in her life. Her mother, whose walk-in closet truly was the size of Relena’s apartment.

“I’m not alone, Mother,” Relena said, and she already felt tired, already felt  _ done _ with this day and it wasn’t even eight-thirty yet. “I have friends and a career, and I’m not going to end up alone and miserable.”

“You say that now, Relena, but in ten years - in fifteen, in twenty, when you look back and you see how empty your life is - when you start asking yourself what  _ if _ I had just given that nice doctor a chance...”

“That- Mother, are you talking about  _ Wufei _ ? That misogynist gynecologist?” Her mother had set her up with Wufei last year, had invited them over for one of Harold’s “intimate” parties of twenty guests, and Relena had been seated beside Wufei and it had been the most excruciating dinner of her life.

“Honestly, he’s not a  _ misogynist _ , Relena. He’s a woman’s doctor, how can he hate-”

“Mother, he listed, in very intricate detail, all of the ways that the human female body is inferior to that of a human male, and all of the ways that a male would be  _ better _ at being pregnant and giving birth. I listened to him call all women - pregnant or otherwise - overly emotional, sycophantic and insipid. He’s a misogynist, and I don’t know why you use him as your doctor.”

“Perhaps he was simply responding to your prickly nature, Relena.” Her mother sniffed again, and Relena rolled her eyes. Of course. Of  _ course _ it was Relena’s fault. She looked at the clock on her microwave and silently cheered at the time.

“Mother, I’m sorry, but I really have to go or I’m going to be late for work.”

“You’re going to work... on your birthday?”

“Yes, Mother. They aren’t going to let me take the day off just because I’m one day older than I was yesterday.”

“All I meant, Relena, is that you work very hard for them. You work long hours - you work weekends. You would think that asking for  _ one _ day off would-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Relena sighed, and she rubbed at her forehead. “I know what you meant and I’m sorry. I just- I love you, Mother.”

“And I love you.”

Relena sighed again, and found herself biting her lip.

“Will you- will you check Daddy’s grave? I sent new flowers for today, and I just want to make sure they arrived.”

Relena felt the silence from her mother like a weight pressing on her chest.

“Yes. I’ll make sure.” Her mother’s voice was brittle, and Relena knew she was fighting back tears. 

Relena swallowed hard, swallowed an apology, swallowed her desire to say anything else on a topic that had driven them apart for the last fifteen years.

“I have to go to work now,” she whispered into the phone.

“Yes, yes, of course you do. Have a lovely birthday, Relena.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Relena hung up the phone and wiped at her eyes.

Birthdays were shit.

 

-o-

 

Relena had shocked a lot of people, herself and her advisors included, when right out of grad school she landed a job with Dolby Laboratories in the marketing department. Now, six years later, she was one of the youngest marketing managers and damn proud of it. The pay was great, the work was challenging, the atmosphere exciting, and yes, her mother was right. She did work long hours, especially when big projects were on the line, but Relena  _ liked _ that.

She liked almost everything about her job.

The one thing - the one  _ person _ \- that required her to use the ‘almost’ caveat was Dorothy Catalonia. The same age as Relena, same background, same prestigious undergrad and grad schools, same impossible-to-get internships. They had been hired at the same time, and their former supervisor - now long shipped off with an eye-rollingly generous benefits package - had confused Dorothy and Relena for months and months. He had resorted to just calling out Blondie, and dealt with whichever one of them responded first. Inevitably, Relena and Dorothy had been at odds with each other. It was disheartening for Relena, who wanted desperately to have the support of her female co-workers in the male-dominated company, but her desire to succeed and be recognized warred with her inclination towards supporting other women. 

In the years since they had been hired, Dorothy and Relena had competed for everything from assignments to promotions, and in the end, they were still competing, even though they now both had corner offices. The competition had changed, with their successes, and Relena and Dorothy had recently started going out of their way to be  _ nice _ to each other after a VP made the casual, cutting remark that it was too bad ‘these girls are so cutthroat.’ 

So Relena wasn’t at all surprised when she walked into work that morning and saw Dorothy, a stupid pastel hat on her head and a noisemaker in her fingers, standing at the front of a group of their coworkers beside a cake, ready to sing Happy Birthday to Relena.

Relena pasted a smile on her face, just as fake as Dorothy’s, just as fake as the one for her Facebook picture, and she thanked everyone and accepted the piece of cake - chocolate on chocolate because Dorothy did  _ nothing _ halfway - from Dorothy as she mentally counted down the number of minutes she needed to linger before she could escape to her office and bury herself in work.

It wasn’t until after lunch that Dorothy came by her office to personally offer her best wishes.

“How old are you now, anyway? Forty?”

Dorothy didn’t even say hello - didn’t wait for Alex, Relena’s secretary, to buzz her in - just waltzed into Relena’s office as though she owned the place.

Relena looked up from her computer and glared.

Dorothy just smirked.

In this, at least, Relena would always lose - Dorothy was nine months younger than her. Not enough to matter, all all, except for times like this.

“Thirty, as I’m sure you know. Don’t worry, you’ll be here soon enough.”

“Mm. But I won’t be miserable and alone like you, now will I?” Dorothy sat, uninvited, in a chair across from Relena’s desk.

Relena snorted.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Dorothy reached out to tweak the photograph of Relena and her father that sat on her desk. Relena was about to snap, about to demand she never touch that, when she saw the sparkle of a diamond on Dorothy’s finger.

“Sylvia proposed?”

“Yes. And it was just so romantic,” Dorothy said with a contented sigh. “Of course, she’d been planning it for ages - though I’m not sure how since she is just  _ so _ busy. You know, with her work at the San Francisco Safe House. She’s such a saint.”

Relena knew. She had been subjected to hours and hours of Dorothy waxing poetic over her flawless fiancee. The first time they had met, at a department function, Relena had been fully prepared to hate her. But Dorothy was right - Sylvia really was a saint. Relena still couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of them as a couple - still couldn’t figure out how on earth they had even met.

“Anyway, we’re getting married at Christmas. Her favorite time of year.”

“Congratulations,” Relena belatedly offered.

“Oh, thank you so much. Of course, you’ll be invited. You know, Sylvia’s brother is-”

“Dorothy, I appreciate it, but I don’t need your help finding a date. Especially not after Quatre.”

Dorothy arched an eyebrow, and her lips curved upwards before settling back into a straight line.

“Yes. Dear Quatre. I  _ am _ sorry about that.”

Relena knew - and Dorothy knew she knew - that Dorothy wasn’t sorry at all. Relena had only gone out with Quatre in the first place to get Dorothy to shut up about him, and then she had had to listen to months of Dorothy’s ‘I told you so’s’ when things went well - followed by weeks of ‘oh, I am so sorry, who could have ever seen that coming’?

Dorothy saw it coming, Relena was sure of it.

“Yes, well. I’m over it. And I’m trying to work, so unless there was anything…?”

Dorothy smirked and got to her feet. She glanced down at the photograph.

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, and of course, offer my condolences about your father’s passing. I know this day is so difficult for you, to be so alone and miss him so very, very much.”

She left, and Relena stared after.

That had been low, even for Dorothy.

After a few minutes, Alex came in.

“Are you okay, Relena?” he asked cautiously.

Relena shook herself, realized she had just been  _ staring _ into space, and she started to apologize.

No. She stopped herself before she could even start.

“Fine, Alex. I’m actually taking off for the day.”

“Going to make it a long weekend to celebrate?”

“Something like that,” Relena agreed, and started to save the documents on her computer. “Forward any important calls.”

“Of course! Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks.”

 

-o-

 

After more than an hour wandering the aisles of Sprouts Farmers Market, loading a basket with wine and popcorn and eventually a carton of her favorite Aden’s ice cream, Relena had driven home, unloaded her groceries, and decided to take a very long bath while drinking a very large glass of red wine.

The goal, of course, was to not think about anything. Not her birthday. Not Dorothy. Not Quatre. Not her empty apartment. Not her mother. Not her father.

But of course, Relena failed.

One sip of the Malbec had her sighing and tearing up.

Her father had loved wine - had delighted in giving Relena a taste of whatever he was having, and loved the interest she had taken in it. Their last family vacation had been to Sonoma, and Relena could still remember her father’s smirk as he offered her clandestine sips. The Malbec -  _ this _ Malbec - had been his favorite.

She probably shouldn’t have chose it - not today, at least. 

But she had, because today, of all days, she wanted to remember him.

It was nearly four by the time she got out of the bath - the water cold, and the bottle of wine she had brought into the bathroom with her to top off her glass half-empty - and she pulled on her falling-apart-at-the-seams Stanford t-shirt and a pair of boxers that she had commandeered from Quatre before lying down on the couch and risking her sanity by turning on the television and watching CNN.

The first bottle of wine was empty, a second opened and a bowl of popcorn in her lap before she knew it. Funny how shouting at political pundits made the time fly.

Just as Relena finished up the popcorn, just as she started to think about just how alone she really was, and yes, her mother was right, probably - she wasn’t happy, and in fifteen years she would look back and realize she had made a horrible mistake and maybe she should just pick up the phone and call Wufei because even a ranting misogynistic was better than no one - better than a guy who left you when he realized he was  _ gay _ and in love with his personal trainer, and maybe-

The doorbell rang.

Relena stared at the door.

“Delivery!” a voice called out from the other side.

Was she that drunk? Had she really ordered take-out and completely forgotten about it?

Relena stared at the half-empty second bottle of wine. It was possible.

A knock followed, and Relena reluctantly got up from the couch.

She walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. 

And then she rubbed her eyes and looked again.

It couldn’t be.

Relena unlocked her door and swung it open.

She was immediately engulfed in the arms of Duo Maxwell as he hugged her and spun her around. Standing just behind him, amused smirk softening his strong features, was Heero Yuy.

“What are you doing here?” Relena asked when Duo put her down and she stepped over to hug Heero, his embrace warm and tight but less exuberant.

“Well, ‘Ro and I were talking last week, and we knew that this birthday was pretty significant so we figured instead of calling you we’d just show up on your doorstep.”

Relena arched an eyebrow at him, even as she realized she was grinning like a fool.

They had grown up together, had known each other for as long as she could remember, had gone through childhood and puberty and high school together as best friends before Relena went to Stanford, Heero to Columbia and Duo to Georgetown for college. After college and grad school, Duo found himself in Dallas, Heero Washington D.C. and Relena had stayed in California. They had kept in touch, though, and still took annual vacations together - the last, Duo’s choice, had been to Aspen back in January for three days of skiing.

“Thirty isn’t  _ that _ significant,” she argued.

Duo snorted, and traded a smirk with Heero.

“Not that significant, she says. ‘Ro, man, I think she’s forgotten all about our proposal.”

Heero adopted a wounded expression and nodded.

“She’s moved on,” he said, and gave a wistful sigh.

“What  _ are _ you two talking about?”

Duo grinned.

“Remember when we were seven and we all agreed that if we were thirty and unmarried, we’d get married?”

Relena stared at him, the wine doing very little to help her piece together what he was talking about. And then she  _ did _ remember the childhood promise, the way all three of them had exchanged kisses before a teacher had walked over and pulled Duo and Heero apart and admonished the three of them. 

She arched an eyebrow at Duo - or, at least she thought she did.

“How much have you had to drink?” Heero asked, his deep voice clearly amused.

“Too much,” she confessed.

“We should probably sober her up and wait until tomorrow to find a judge to marry us,” Duo said to Heero.

Heero nodded, and then, without warning, bent down and picked her up, lifting her over his shoulder effortlessly and carrying her into the apartment.

“Let’s see what we can do about saving you from a raging hangover,” Duo said as he followed them in and closed the door behind him.

Heero deposited her by one of the kitchen barstools while Duo set their bags down by the couch before surveying the wine and popcorn.

He shook his head.

“You sure do live a crazy life out here.”

She glared at him, but he just smirked and joined Heero in the kitchen.

Relena sat on the barstool and pillowed her head against her hands on the counter and watched them.

Heero, who had spent all of ten minutes in her kitchen during his last visit a year ago, moved about as though it was his own, pulling out a pan, cutting board and knife while Duo rooted around in her refrigerator and started to hand him ingredients.

Eggs, spinach, cheese, butter. She had to smile. 

Heero’s omelets were legendary - at least, according to Duo, who liked to tease Heero about them endlessly, and certainly from Relena’s limited experience with them. 

While Heero started cooking, Duo passed her a glass of water and leaned against the counter beside her.

“So, how’s Mommy Dearest doing?”

Relena made a face and thought, for all of thirty seconds, about defending her. Then she shrugged and took a gulp of water.

“You got any bread?”

Relena gestured to the top of the fridge, and Duo leaned up and pulled down a bag. He took the knife out of Heero’s hands just as he was preparing to dice the spinach, offered him a smug grin when Heero glared, and slathered butter onto a piece of bread before handing it over to her.

Relena reluctantly started to nibble on it.

“I just… I want her to believe me when I say that I’m happy, and that I  _ don’t _ need to be married and stuck at home taking care of screaming babies to be happy.”

Heero arched an eyebrow, and his lips quirked upwards.

“But you make it sound so appealing,” he murmured.

She gave him a look, and Duo snorted.

“Are you happy?” Duo asked after a moment. “Her expectations aside?”

Relena hesitated before nodding.

“Not so much  _ right now _ ,” she admitted, “but when it’s not today? Yes, yes, I’m happy.”

Heero nodded.

“Good. Don’t let her take that away from you.”

Relena smiled at him, even though he was concentrating on the stovetop and didn’t see her.

“But what about you two? What’s new in the lives of Dr. Maxwell and Professor Yuy?”

Duo shrugged and snagged the neglected bottle of wine and poured glasses for both Heero and himself.

“My grant just got approved, so we start phase two on the research next month,” Duo said.

Heero looked over at him.

“I didn’t realize. That’s great.”

Duo smirked, but then he lifted his leg and gently shoved it against Heero’s ass.

“You’re the one with the big news, Mr. HotShot,” Duo said.

Relena turned to Heero, whose cheeks had actually turned pink. 

“I heard back from Princeton.”

“ _ And? _ ” Relena prompted, though Duo’s goofy grin told her all she needed to know.

“They’re offering me the position.”

Relena got off of her stool and ran around to hug him from behind. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“I’m so proud of you!”

“He also negotiated for an extra five thousand on his salary  _ and _ four years counting towards tenure.”

Relena wasn’t too familiar with the world of academia, but Duo lifted his eyebrows and nodded, letting her knew it was a big deal.

She squeezed Heero’s waist again, and he moved one arm to hold her hand.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice a little gruff.

Relena leaned her face against his back and sighed.

It was good, really, really good, to have them here tonight. To not be alone. 

Duo tilted his head to the side and gave her a questioning look.

“I thought you guys had forgotten,” she admitted. “Neither of you called and-”

“Hey, we would never forget,” Duo said, and pulled her away from Heero to hug her again. “I just wanted it to be a surprise and-”

“I said we should call you first,” Heero interrupted.

“Yes, Mr. Plan Everything Perfectly, you wanted to call first. And I’m sorry we didn’t.”

Relena shook her head.

“No, it’s fine. I just- I’ve had a lot of wine.”

“I’m just glad it’s not tequila - you get very feisty after half a bottle of that.”

Relena had to laugh at the memory Duo was referencing, of their trip to Key West the summer they all turned twenty-one and the night she had challenged a six foot tall, two hundred pound marine to a fight after he had tried to dump water on her so that he could judge her potential to win a wet t-shirt contest that she had no desire to participate in. Only Heero and Duo holding her back, laughing their asses off, had prevented her from doing more than breaking his nose.

“Ready to eat?” Heero asked, expertly folding the omelet over before sliding it out of the pan and onto a clean plate.

He set it on the counter, and Duo nudged her back to her seat.

Relena huffed, a little irritated at being pushed around in her own apartment, but she sat down and picked up the fork Heero handed to her.

She watched as he started to make another.

“I can’t eat two of these,” she said, her stomach already giving her doubts about  _ one _ .

Heero arched an eyebrow at her and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“I thought Duo might like one - I know that  _ I’m _ hungry.”

Relena flushed.

“If that’s okay with you?” Heero added.

She nodded and forced herself to take a bite of her omelet. Of course, it tasted amazing.

“Heero had big plans for us to go out on the town tonight,” Duo confided as he sat down beside her.

Relena looked up, ready to apologize, but Duo continued.

“Of course, I’m not sure what kind of posh restaurant he had in mind, but I’m thinking boxers and a t-shirt are a  _ little _ understated for casual chic.”

Heero snorted in amusement as he continued to cook.

“So  _ I _ figured we’d stay in tonight, watch some of your favorite movies, and go out tomorrow night.”

“How long are you two staying?” Relena asked, unexpectedly overwhelmed by the fact that they were here, that they would be here tomorrow, that they cared.

“Our flights leave Sunday night,” Heero said. He handed another plate to Duo, who accepted it and then rubbed his hands together in glee.

“Man, I have been dying for one of these ever since your boyfriend just would not shut  _ up _ about them.”

Heero rolled his eyes.

“How is Ralph?” Relena asked. She had met him over Christmas, when he and Heero came home for the holiday, and the five of them - Duo, Heero, Ralph, Quatre and Relena had gone out for drinks.

Heero shrugged one shoulder.

“Fine, I’m sure.”

Relena arched an eyebrow at Duo, who lifted both in return.

“What happened?”

Heero sighed, and angrily cracked an egg into a bowl.

“Nothing. Nothing happened, and apparently, that was the problem.”

Duo scowled.

“He said that?”

Heero nodded, and cracked another egg. Relena watched him methodically beat the eggs into a smooth batter and couldn’t help but notice how tightly Heero was gripping the fork.

“What an idiot,” Duo muttered.

Heero nodded again, and Relena looked up to see how tightly his jaw was clenched.

They had been dating for almost two years, and Relena had found it sickeningly sweet, the way Heero talked about Ralph whenever they spoke on the phone.

“When did-”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday before or after we made plans to come out here?”

“After. Apparently, taking a weekend to fly out for my best friend’s birthday is a sign of just how little I care about Ralph, since I’ve never taken a weekend off out of the blue for  _ him _ .”

Relena felt guilt settle into the pit of her stomach.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

“No,” Heero cut her off with a wave of his hand. “This is not your fault. It’s mine.”

“What? Because you didn’t take off every weekend to take him to a bed and breakfast?” Duo shook his head. “No way, man. Ralph is a total-”

“Don’t blame this on him.” Heero flipped his omelet onto a plate and remained standing while he ate it, one hip against the counter, his face in profile. “It was my fault. These last six months… I’ve been busy with interviews and my research.”

“Okay, but that’s, like,  _ normal _ . You-”

“I forgot about him, Duo. Yesterday? I forgot to even tell him about this. I came home, I packed my bag, and I didn’t even  _ tell _ him. He saw it by the front door, and he waited all night for me to say something, and I didn’t.”

“Okay, but that was  _ one _ -”

“No, it wasn’t. I did the same thing when I went to Princeton for the interview. Whenever I work late- I always just forget about him. He’s right. Nothing ever happens because I’m never around for it to, and when I  _ am _ around - when I  _ do _ remember, we just fight.”

“I’m sorry,” Relena said again.

Heero gave her a look.

“I’m not saying it’s my fault. I’m just saying that I’m sorry it happened. I know how much he meant to you.”

Heero nodded.

“He- he’s a great guy. I want him to be happy. I just… forgot how to do that.”

They ate in silence after that, until Duo finally threw down his fork.

“Jesus, this is depressing as hell. First Relena’s dream guy realizes he’s gay, then Heero’s dream guy realizes he’s a needy brat - don’t defend him. I’m sure he’s great, but I’m your friend and I’m allowed to not like him in this moment, Heero - and the only people who even bother to ask me out are my research assistants.”

“What happened to Hilde?”

“She’s taking the job in Chicago, and she doesn’t want to start anything because she thinks long-distance relationships are impossible.”

Relena had to shake her head.

She raised her nearly empty glass of water.

“Here’s to being single forever.”

Duo snorted, but he lifted his wine glass and Heero tapped his own against theirs.

“Somehow, I doubt we’ll be single forever,” Duo said after taking a sip of his wine. “We’re just too damn pretty to die alone.”

“Hopefully, not too pretty to help me with the dishes?” Heero asked.

Duo made a face and grumbled something under his breath, but he got off his stool. Relena followed him, but Duo took her plate away.

“No, no, no.  _ You _ need to get more water and some aspirin, and then go park your ass on the couch while Heero and I take care of this. Movies are in the front of my backpack - pick out what you want to watch first.”

Relena lingered in the kitchen long enough to watch Duo and Heero start washing the dishes, Duo bumping his shoulders and elbows against Heero, clearly trying to get a rise out of him by invading his personal space, until Heero rolled his eyes and hip-checked Duo out of his way. Relena smiled at the sound of Duo’s chuckle and the sight of Heero’s eyes crinkling.

She refilled her glass, downed the prescribed aspirin, and then set about looking for the movies.

She wasn’t at all surprised to find them sandwiched between pages of what looked like Duo’s research. She also wasn’t at all surprised by the three DVDs he had chosen: Fever Pitch (Heero’s favorite), Pride and Prejudice (Duo’s favorite) and Sabrina (Relena’s favorite).

“What are we starting with?” Duo called out from the kitchen, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the running water.

It was a tough call. Relena loved Sabrina - especially the Audrey Hepburn version, which Duo had selected - but Heero… 

“Fever Pitch,” she announced, and got up to put the DVD into the player.

By the time the boys joined her on the couch, Relena had finished off the second glass of water, made a trip to the bathroom where she saw her hair was an utter wreck and decided she didn’t care, and felt her drunkenness begin to recede very slightly as the water, food and aspirin started to work their magic.

The boys sat down, one on either side of her, and Duo scooped her feet up into his lap while Heero shifted towards the corner of the couch and let Relena lean against his side while he rested his arm over the back of the couch.

She felt an aching moment of nostalgia - how many nights had they done exactly this over the years? How many weekends in high school had they spent hiding out at Duo’s house doing exactly this while Relena or Heero’s parents threw party after party?

“You know,” Duo started to massage Relena’s bare feet as the movie started, “for a guy who is both a rabid Yankees fan and super gay, you have an inordinate love of this movie.”

Heero shrugged.

“It hurts to see the Sox win at the end, but it’s still a good story. Besides, I’m not gay - just like you’re not straight.”

“Fair point,” Duo smirked. “You’re gay except for Relena, and I’m straight except for you.”

She could feel Heero nod in agreement. “Plus, Drew Barrymore reminds me of Relena.”

While  _ she _ didn’t see it, she was still flattered by the compliment.

“I didn’t realize that.”

“And Duo reminds me of Jimmy Fallon. Just with acceptable hair.”

Duo snorted a laugh at that.

“Acceptable, says the man who refuses to brush his hair. Ever.”

Relena couldn’t help but smile and settle back as they continued to bicker.

By the time they finished Fever Pitch, both Duo and Heero had had a few more glasses of wine and Relena a few more of water. It amused her that her slide back into sobriety was almost the opposite of Duo and Heero’s slide into a buzzed state.

Duo put in Sabrina next while Heero made another bowl of popcorn.

“I can’t believe him and Ralph broke up,” Duo confided to her. “I think he was really serious about him - he talked about proposing.”

Relena nodded. Two months ago, Heero had mentioned that to her too, had asked her opinion on proposing on someone’s birthday.

“Do you think they’ll get back together?”

Duo snorted.

“You know Heero - once his mind is made up, there’s no changing it. He’s convinced that Ralph is better off without him, and I swear to God, it would take Ralph sprinting across Yankee Stadium and getting arrested by security to convince him otherwise.”

As amusing as the mental image was, Relena had to admit it was true.

“Talking about me?” Heero asked as he came back into the room, armed with Relena’s last bottle of wine and the bowl of popcorn.

“You know it,” Duo grinned, and snagged the bottle of wine.

They settled back to watch the movie in the same positions as before, and it was nearly midnight, and Linus had just confessed his plan to Sabrina when, behind her, Relena heard Heero start to softly snore.

She looked over at Duo, who was looking back at her, a grin on his face.

“Might be bedtime for ‘Ro,” Duo said with a wink.

Relena nodded.

“Me too. It was a long day.”

“Think you’ve had enough water or-?”

“I think I’m good now. Thank you.”

“Hey, what are best friends for?”

Relena eased out of Heero’s arms and helped Duo tidy up and turn off everything before they returned to the couch and gently nudged Heero.

He grumbled and shifted his head against the back cushion.

“‘Ro, dude, come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Heero scowled as he slowly blinked his eyes open and stared at them. His expression softened and he smirked ever-so-slightly.

Beside Relena, Duo chuckled.

“Oh buddy, there’s my favorite ‘Ro. Buzzed ‘Ro.”

Duo held out a hand and pulled Heero up to his feet, and together the three of them went into Relena’s bedroom.

“I’m not buzzed. Not really. Just tired.”

“Uh huh. You went all goofy grin and sappy eyes on us, buddy. You’re either buzzed or you’re horny. Or both.”

Relena looked over her shoulder and saw Heero regarding them speculatively. She rolled her eyes.

“You  _ just _ broke up with your boyfriend who you almost proposed to, Heero,” she pointed out. 

He sighed and scrubbed at his face.

“I know.”

Duo brought their bags into the room, setting them to one side and rooting around for his toiletries before disappearing into the bathroom.

Heero sat down on the edge of the bed and Relena sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You know you’re a great guy who deserves to be happy too,” she said. “Even if Ralph and you… Even if things didn’t work out. It doesn’t mean they won’t  _ ever _ .”

“And just because I’m  _ mostly _ gay and Quatre is  _ very _ gay doesn’t mean that every guy you date is going to leave you for another man,” Heero responded.

Relena snorted.

“You and I never dated, so I’m not including you. As it stands, only one of my eight boyfriends has left me for another man.”

“I’m hurt that I don’t even make the list.”

She rolled her eyes and poked him in the side.

“You want me to count one very sex-filled weekend the summer before we went to college as a relationship?”

Heero shrugged under her head.

“That might be the only time we’ve had sex, but you and Duo and I… our relationship matters.”

Relena sighed in agreement.

“I know. I’m not saying it doesn’t. But I-”

“Okay, seriously. You two  _ need _ to stop it with the sad faces and the sighing,” Duo said, coming back into the room. He had taken off his clothes while in the bathroom, and stood in front of them in only his boxers. “Happy thoughts, friends. New rule for the weekend - no more sadness.”

Heero made a disbelieving sound.

“What’s the punishment for breaking these rules of yours?”

“First infraction results in you both agreeing that we’re going to Nice this summer instead of Alaska. And since you’ve both definitely already broken the rules, that’s out of the way.”

Relena opened her mouth to protest, but Heero beat her to it.

“You can’t retroactively apply the rules.”

“Fine. Then  _ when _ you two have sad thoughts again, that’s the first consequence.”

“And the second? Are you going to plan out all of our vacations for the next ten years?” Relena hazarded.

Duo smirked.

“Is it really so bad when I’m in charge?”

“Yes,” Heero and Relena said at the same time.

“Thanks, guys,” Duo snorted.

Relena rolled her eyes, and then got up and took her turn in the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth, half-heartedly ran a brush through her mess of hair, used the bathroom yet again - she felt like she had surely voided  _ all _ of the wine she had drunk earlier in the night by this point, and a fair amount of the water Duo had been drowning her in - then returned to the bedroom.

In the handful of minutes she had been gone, something had happened. The mood had shifted and she could see it - could practically  _ feel _ it.

Heero had stripped down to his briefs and he was rummaging through his bag, back to Duo, who was staring at him with a perplexed look on his face, fingers against his lips.

Relena arched an eyebrow and opened her mouth to ask what had happened when Heero brushed past her into the bathroom and firmly closed the door behind himself.

“What happened?” she hissed at Duo. She had seen Heero’s face when he walked by, had seen his scowl and the way he tilted his head down and away. He was upset. Very upset.

“I don’t fucking  _ know _ ,” Duo replied, his voice low and angry. “We were just talking, and then he- then he kissed me and I…”

“You freaked out?” Relena guessed. Of the three of them, Duo had always been the one most uneasy about the fact that they had all slept together before college, the one most defensive about his preference for women over men.

“No! I kissed him back, and then  _ he _ freaked out.”

Relena arched an eyebrow. She remembered, freshmen year of college, long hours spent talking on the phone to Heero - well, mostly her talking  _ at _ Heero before he would finally contribute to the conversation. Whenever she asked about potential boyfriends, he always said that no one was like Duo. So she wasn’t surprised that Heero had kissed Duo - they all knew that Heero had always had a crush on him. They all knew that Heero tended to get  _ very _ affectionate when tipsy - Relena couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she and Heero or Heero and Duo had kissed or made out over the years after a few drinks. So it wasn’t unheard of for Heero to kiss Duo. But to then freak out about it afterwards?

“It’s gotta be a Ralph thing,” Duo muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “I just- I wish he had just  _ told _ me about this when we were on the plane or in the cab, or like  _ any time _ before now.”

Relena sighed, and sat down on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. 

Of all the things she had woken up dreading this morning, she had not thought that having to comfort her best friend after his boyfriend dumped him would make the list. It was ironic - she was so used to spending her birthday upset about everything to do with  _ her _ life. It was a strangely welcome change of pace to not even be thinking about herself.

When Heero came out of the bathroom, he was scowling, and he dropped his toiletry bag onto his luggage with a careless  _ thud _ .

Duo sighed.

“Heero-”

“I’m sorry,” Heero spoke over him. 

“What- You don’t have anything to apologize for, ‘Ro.”

Heero looked up at Duo then and frowned.

“Don’t I? I know both of you- I know you just sit back and let me kiss you when I’m like this.”

“Heero, I don’t  _ mind _ ,” Duo protested. “Seriously!”

Heero’s scowl deepened.

“I don’t want you to not mind.”

Relena arched an eyebrow.

“You want us to mind?”

“No, I want you to  _ want _ me. Like I want you two.”

“Oh.”

Relena frowned.

“I enjoy kissing you, Heero - you and Duo.”

“And I enjoy it too. Hell, ‘Ro, do you think I’d spend so much money buying you drinks at the bar if I didn’t want you to kiss me?”

Heero shook his head.

“But that’s it - for both of you. I’m just… It’s fine to kiss me when I’m drunk, but that’s it.”

“I… I’m not really following this conversation,” Duo said, and looked over at Relena, who could only shrug. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m trying to say that-” Heero gave an angry sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to say that I’m thirty and every relationship I’ve ever had is nothing compared to what  _ we _ have.”

Duo’s mouth opened in a silent, shocked O.

“Huh.”

Duo turned to look at Relena, who hadn’t realized she had even said anything.

“What?” Duo asked.

“I just realized the same thing,” she said. “Every guy I’ve ever dated, I compare him to you two and he never measures up. You two are my best friends, and you’re, well, I’ve had the best and worst sex of my life with you two.”

“The  _ worst _ ?” Duo asked, offended and wounded.

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“How would you characterize that first time? Heero came almost as soon as he had his dick in me, and you didn’t even make it to-”

“Okay, yeah, fine.  _ That  _ wasn’t so great, but the rest of that weekend-”

“Was perfect,” Heero finished.

He and Relena shared a look.  _ They _ had talked about this.  _ They  _ had gotten drunk one night on the phone and relived their favorite moments from that weekend, and Relena wasn’t sure it counted as phone sex, but if it did, it was her first and only attempt at it.

“So, wait, wait, you two are saying- What the hell  _ are _ you two saying? You want us all to just- Everyone abandon their lives and let’s move into this shoebox of an apartment-”

“It is not that small.”

“-and what? Live in polyamorous bliss?” Duo shook his head. “This is crazy, guys. This is-”

“I’m not suggesting that,” Heero said, and he sounded tired and defeated. “I know that’s crazy. I’m just saying- I’m just saying I’d like more than to be the guy who kisses his best friends when he’s not sober.”

Duo arched an eyebrow.

“So you want to be the guy who … has sex with his best friends when he’s not sober?”

“The sobriety isn’t really the issue here, Duo,” Relena said.

Duo gave her a look.

“I want to be the guy whose best friends want him as much as he wants them.”

That was certainly loaded.

Duo’s brows drew together as he seemed to genuinely consider Heero’s words.

For Relena, it didn’t require much thinking.

“Heero, I want you. Not just because it’s fun to kiss you when you’re buzzed and handsy and adorable. And not just because you’re a really, really good kisser.”

Heero smirked slightly at that.

“Though to be fair, he is, like, the best kisser ever,” Duo interjected.

Relena nodded in agreement.

She could see Heero relaxing, could see him working himself away from whatever tension and anxiety had been running through him.

“And he’s got a great ass,” Relena added.

Duo nodded enthusiastically.  “So true. And those abs - tell me how a psychology professor manages to get abs like that?”

“And those calves. I mean, how many flights of stairs do you walk up every day to get those?”

Heero rolled his eyes at their blatant appreciation of his body.

“Look,” Duo started, and then hesitated. “I honestly never considered the possibility that you  _ wanted _ more than just, you know, drunk make-out sessions with me - or Relena. I thought we all said that that one time was great but it was one time and that was it, so I’ve spent the last twelve years telling myself it’s not going to happen again, and I’m pretty sure I’ve turned it into some kind of legendary fantasy in my head because no sex I’ve had has  _ ever _ compared.”

Both Relena and Heero stared at him.

“Really?” Duo, unlike Heero, tended to not reminiscence with Relena about that weekend.

Duo huffed. “Yeah, really.”

“We could always find out,” Heero said.

“Find out what?”

“If you’ve turned it into some legendary fantasy or if we really are that good together.”

Duo smirked. “Smooth, ‘Ro.”

Heero shrugged. “We don’t have to.”

“I vote yes,” Relena said, and held up her hand. “And since it’s my birthday, I vote yes twice.” She raised her other hand and Heero chuckled.

Duo hesitated. “You don’t think… I mean, you guys aren’t worried about this being a really, really bad idea?”

“It’s just sex, Duo. Sex with my best friends.”

Duo drew in a breath and looked between them.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to,” he admitted. “I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship.”

Heero snorted. “The only way it would ruin our friendship is if you’ve  _ lost _ stamina over the last twelve years. Relena and I don’t want to do  _ all _ the work ourselves here.”

Duo made a face and Relena laughed.

“I’ve had zero complaints about it, thanks. Forgive me for being eighteen, stupidly horny, and incredibly aroused by you two.”

Relena grinned. “ I don’t think we can really  _ blame _ you for being incredibly aroused by us,” she said.

Heero nodded in agreement. “But you aren’t eighteen anymore. Are you still stupidly horny?”

Duo chuckled. “Ah, not exactly that - but I’m definitely up for getting incredibly aroused again.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Heero smirked before looking past him to Relena.

“Do you have condoms and lube on hand?” he asked.

“Um…” Relena got off the bed and went back into the bathroom. It had been a few months, but she didn’t think they had gone through all of the condoms before Quatre left her…

She found a few shoved towards the back of the medicine cabinet, as well as the half-used tube of KY warming gel.

“I only have three,” she said, coming back out of the bathroom and looking at the gel to see if it would be okay to use as an anal lubricant. “And will the KY warming gel work or-?” She looked up and saw that Heero and Duo were on the bed, Duo straddling Heero’s hips while Heero was flat on his back, looking up at him and smirking as Duo leaned down to press a kiss against Heero’s lips.

Relena watched them, question forgotten as she watched them.

Amazing how erotic it was to watch two men kiss. Two men who were her best friends. Her best friends, she had to admit, who had amazing bodies and who had had starring roles in her sexual fantasies for more than a decade.

She could feel her heart race as Duo slanted his lips over Heero’s and deepened the kiss. She knew what it felt like, to kiss Heero, to kiss Duo, and she knew it was amazing and overwhelming. 

Heero ran his hands over Duo’s back, smoothing across his braid and his spine until he reached Duo’s ass and he clutched it, squeezing lightly, and Relena heard Duo moan and saw him shift closer to Heero.

Duo’s own hands moved over Heero’s chest, thumb teasing at a nipple until Heero arched upwards, and Duo, still kissing him, chuckled.

Relena sighed, her arousal mixed with affection.

They heard her and broke apart.

Duo looked over his shoulder at her and then sat back on his heels. “You look lonely over there - come join us.”

Heero patted the bed beside him invitingly, and Relena laughed as she walked over.

“Wait,” Duo said before she sat down. He held up his index finger. “There’s a boxers or briefs-only rule being enforced right now. You want to join us, you’re going to have to lose that shirt.”

Relena rolled her eyes but decided to play along, and she put the condoms and lube on the nightstand before reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.

When she could see again, she noticed both of them staring at her. 

“They’re breasts. Surely you’ve seen more than just these?”

Heero shook his head. “Yours are it - that I’ve  _ wanted _ to see.”

There was a story there, and Relena made a mental note to pursue it at some other time.

“I mean, yeah, but… yours are so perfect. They just- Come here.” Duo gestured her closer, and Relena climbed up onto the bed and knelt beside him. “May I?” Duo asked, holding up his hand and wiggling his fingers.

Relena arched an eyebrow. “Are you planning on doing a magic trick or touching my breasts?”

“Both,” Duo assured her, and reached out with his right hand. Despite the implication of his goofy gesture, Duo used his index and pointer fingers to trace from Relena’s collarbone down to her left breast, circling the fullest part before spiraling in towards her nipple and rubbing his fingers back and forth over it until it peaked.

She found herself arching into Duo’s touch, felt electric currents of desire under his touch.

He smirked at her. “See? Perfect. Am I right, ‘Ro?”

Heero reached up to fondle her other breast, using his entire palm to cup her breast before gently massaging the flesh between his fingers. 

“Yes,” Heero agreed.

Relena thought they were probably extremely biased, especially in that moment, but she wasn’t about to complain - not when she had them sitting there trying to prove how perfect her breasts were by  _ fondling _ them.

It felt incredible, and Relena leaned into Duo to kiss him and show her appreciation.

His lips were a little rough, and she shivered at the way they scraped over hers before he opened his mouth and she felt the teasing caress of his tongue.

Below them, Heero shifted closer to Relena and clearly did  _ something _ that made Duo moan in pleasure, the sound almost lost in Relena’s mouth.

She pulled back and saw that Heero had put his free hand to work inside Duo’s boxers, and while Relena couldn’t see what he was doing, the way Duo struggled against another moan gave her a good idea. She traded a grin with Heero and then leaned down to kiss him.

His toothpaste was strong, much stronger than whatever Duo used, and the mint overwhelmed her for a moment before she adjusted to it, before she got caught up in the feel of his lips and his tongue and his teeth as they nipped at her lower lip.

She moaned at that. She had always loved that sensation, had always shivered at the pull of teeth on her skin, and Heero knew it.

“You two are so beautiful,” Duo said beside them, his hands moving over Relena’s breasts and across her back.

“I see he still finds us incredibly arousing,” Relena whispered into Heero’s ear.

Heero smirked.

“That, or he really is still stupidly horny.” Heero tugged at the waistband of Duo’s boxers. “I think this should become a completely clothes-free zone,” he said.

Duo chuckled at that, and got off the bed to tug his boxers down. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” Relena and Heero agreed.

Duo arched an eyebrow and gestured at them. “Well?”

With much less of a show, both Relena and Heero removed the last of their clothes. 

They looked at each other for a moment, and Relena felt a moment of hesitation, of self-consciousness, but then Duo laughed.

“You actually got the tattoo?”

Relena looked down at the small hummingbird just above her bikini line. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


-o-

Endnote: Hey! If you’re enjoying the 31 Days of Smut, or just my writing in general, check out the ebook I published on Amazon it’s cheap (or free if you have Kindle Unlimited) and super smutty. It’s Ponyboy by C. Barton.

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally NO idea where I thought I would take this. 
> 
> It was definitely something along the lines of Trowa being there to plot the overthrow of the Peacecraft line, but I have no idea how I was going to get it there.


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